


Collide

by HollyGoPossumlovesJ2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Actor Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe, Dean Winchester's Fine Ass, Drinking, F/M, Hate at First Sight, Hurt Dean Winchester, Medications, Mentions of conspiracy, Mentions of possible murder, Mystery, Sick Dean Winchester, Smut, Stalking, Student Sam Winchester, Unlikely Pairing, Violence, WIP, mental health, mentions of possible suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:39:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8428243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyGoPossumlovesJ2/pseuds/HollyGoPossumlovesJ2
Summary: Dean Winchester is an actor that doesn't know the meaning of keeping a low profile. He's enigmatic, painfully attractive, and appears to loathe your very existence. He's also been chosen by the CW, a network that owns your current t.v. show and your soul, to become a love interest in order to build your popularity for the sake of the show. It's only supposed to be a few dates, a couple of 'sightings' smothered with PDA, but it turns out to be an adventure you won't soon forget.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a true Alternative Universe. This fiction was based off of a request by @dancingalone21 on tumblr. My very first attempt at a request so I hope I don't muck it up too badly!

You hadn’t starting acting because you thought you were pretty or talented. In fact, you were shit at selling yourself in any situation, had a sailor’s mouth, and you were even more shit at socializing. You truly enjoyed the entire process of making films. You didn’t enjoy the publicity or attention and you tried to avoid that part of it as much as possible. Sure it was a heady feeling to have fans, and you appreciated it, but you surely didn’t think it was on the same level of creating world peace. The attention made you uncomfortable, but you did your best not to be a bumbling idiot whenever you were spoken to.

You were your own worst enemy and the bane of your management team’s existence. The CW, the network you’d picked up a few roles from, insisted that you continue to play your part out in society as well as the role that they’d given you. Plus, as you’d accepted your role of the most badassed Vampire Hunter that’d ever lived, you were pretty sure you could fake some sort of likeable persona for the rest of the world.

Which was why you weren’t surprised by the arrangement that the CW and your manager had come up with. Apparently a deal had been made to bring you more attention and publicity, without much thought put into compatibility or sanity for that matter. So that’s how you ended up sitting across from the most offensive, rude, and unfortunately seriously attractive man you’d ever met. It had been a couple of dates by now, and so far this one was the worst yet.

“You’re not exactly Miss Congeniality yourself, Miss Y/L/N.” He commented wryly as he sipped from the crystal tumbler of whiskey. You couldn’t help but notice that he wreaked of old Hollywood and spoke as if he was late to join the gentlemen for cigars. Like being in your presence was a complete chore and he was merely entertaining you out of the kindness of his heart. It was even more audacious that he’d shown up at your apartment in the West End wearing a worn pair of blue jeans and a faded black button up. You’d think he’d stolen the clothes from a homeless man. The man was a walking, talking conundrum.

The deal was that he was raised to understand this life, being the oldest child of the beloved Mary Winchester, and would be helpful in adjusting to your newly found fame. Mary had died in her prime by her own hands, but had been drenched in the glamor of the Hollywood of old. A drug over dose that haunted the general public even today. His father, John Winchester, had been a highly acclaimed director at the time. However, after his wife’s death, he’d succumbed to the drugs that were all too easily reached in this profession. He spent his days in and out of rehab. The point is, Dean Winchester should know how to keep up appearances. He just appeared to not give two fucks about it. Even when it was someone else’s appearance in jeopardy.

“Well, shit.” The words escaped your mouth, trying your best to sound dully chastised. Apparently you’d said that out loud. However, it couldn’t make the circumstances of sitting in this stuffy Italian restaurant with only a glass of Merlot to keep you sane any worse than they were. The paparazzi that had been tipped off hours earlier took picture after picture, the flash giving you a headache. You took an especially long gulp of wine before replacing delicately on the table, smiling brightly as if Dean Winchester had just said the most charming thing on the planet. You were both here to play your roles, after all.

He sent an amused smile back in your direction, “And a lady, too. How did I get so lucky?”

By now you were speaking through your teeth while still trying to seem entertained, an amused lilt to your voice. “If you weren’t such a complete self absorbed dickhead-”

He threw his head back and laughed as if you were the funniest person in the world. The full bodied laugh would be highly attractive on the man if it wasn’t meant in the most sarcastic tone possible. “God, I’m gonna kill my manager. Why in the hell did they think taking you to bed would help my ratings?”

It was your turn to practically guffaw, nearly spitting up the wine you’d gulped. Your perfectly manicured hand resting on your chest, “You’re fucking delusional if you think anyone will believe that I’m sleeping with you.”

He seemed to spy the server approaching from the corner of his eye, his hand darted across the table to take yours. It was obviously time to lay it on thick. He’d suddenly become demure as he licked his bottom lip, his eyes becoming pools of green and black. “Sweetheart, I’d be the best you ever had.” You couldn’t help the warmth that pooled low, the thrilling tickle of desire in your chest even as you fought to jerk your hand back. It was paralyzed beneath the heat of his surprisingly gentle, calloused fingers. As the server approached the table the corner of his lip curled up into a smirk. “Now, darlin’ if you insist, you can take the bill this time. I know how stubborn you can be. But I’m getting it next time.” He patted your hand as if he were trying to tenderly placate you, winking, and you felt your hackles rise. God, you’d love to just channel your character and punch him straight in his smarmy face!

He directed the server to place the bill in front of you as he stood, straightening his shirt and stretching his fit, lean body like a lazy cat. “Next time?” You stammered, feeling your cheeks turn ruddy as you became even more flustered.

“I’ll catch you at home.” At home?! Not on your fucking life!! He mock saluted you and sauntered off, his bowed legs giving him a certain swagger that should be illegal. But damn he could fill out those worn out jeans! If you spent enough time looking at his muscular thighs, you’d begin to drool. Which was why you were definitely not watching him as he walked away. Nope.

You wanted to narrow your eyes and aim the crystal wine glass to shatter at the back of his head, but you could hear the CW representatives’ words echoing in your brain. ‘We like you, Y/N, but if you don’t bring more popularity to the show we’ll have to find someone else.’ In other words, dance monkey, dance! Like they’d be able to find someone with as much talent as you had with fighting off vampires in a corset and five inch heels. Okay, so it wasn’t that hard. Anyone working on the Boulevard could fill the roll. Socializing and saving face was the hard part and you’d be damned if that would be why you failed.

So, you stowed your pride and sent the server away with your credit card. There was no need to rush, he’d left you last time to catch a cab home. He might be this generation’s James Dean, but he was not mysterious and he wasn’t a fucking gentleman.

If there was a next time that you would have to keep that ingrate company, you were going to drive yourself. You frowned in the back of the yellow taxi the entire ride home only to have your jaw drop in shock. Sitting as a shiny black fixture right in front of your apartment building was that sexy, sleek Impala he’d picked you up in. In a confused daze you handed the driver some cash, walked up the walkway and stairs in your dainty sounding shiny black heels, before pausing in front of your own door.

You hadn’t seen Dean in his car or around the building (there was that guy that seemed to be taking forever to check his mail box, but no Dean) and you couldn’t help the sinking feeling that he somehow had made it into your apartment. But that was absurd, right, because it wasn’t like the bastard had a key, right? You shook the suspicion from your mind and pushed the door open, exposing the darkened hallway to the light of the passageway. Your apartment was silent. It was probably another bid to make it look like you were sleeping together by the network.

As soon as you closed the door you kicked off your heels (they made a satisfying sharp smack against the hallway wall), threw your clutch and keys onto the table and pulled the pins out of your hair to release the length in waves past your shoulders. It was then that you felt like you could breathe. You felt the tight tension that had taken up residence in your chest ever since you’d left home for California loosen. This place wasn’t high dollar, but it was your refuge.

Next to go was the little black jacket you’d been wearing, and you peeled out of it to leave it on the floor in the hallway. Your hands made quick work of the zipper of the dress you’d poured yourself into and finally sent your bra flying until it connected with your door. You sighed with satisfaction. You were finally free!

“Damn, you don’t waste any time do you, darlin’?”

Despite having more dignity than this, you shrieked, launching the dress that was still in your hands in his general direction. It was the only thing in your hand and you’d be damned if you were going down without a fight against your sneaky assailant. Your fists were clenching in front of you, poised for a fight no matter how ridiculous you looked in your black laced panties.

Dean Winchester was lounging on your unmade bed, his shoes still on, his shirt untucked and your dress now dangling from his finger tips. A simultaneously smug and amused expression on his face. “I had no idea it would be this easy to get you naked.” He sighed, sitting up and letting your dress drop to the floor. “I thought for sure I’d have to turn on the charm, maybe buy you a few gifts to show you I care. But look at you! It’s like every Tuesday night at 9 o'clock!” How dare he reference your show!

Regaining some sense of composure you folded one arm over your breasts and stomped over to your dresser and pulled a t shirt and shorts on. In your short time as an actress you’d learned to give up on modesty. Someone was always poking and prodding and getting up in your personal space at all times. “How the hell did you get in here?” You tried to cram all the venom you possessed into those words.

“One of the many things that you don’t know about me is that I’m nothing if not resourceful.” He was eye balling your outfit, “UCLA, huh?”

It wasn’t surprising to you that he’d read the text of your shirt that was stretched across your breasts. “You can read, how cute.” She snarked, coming to stand in front of him. “Maybe the better question would be what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Such language! What a classy chick you are.” He hummed to himself as he appeared to examine his cuticles.

His indifference was driving you mad. So much for this place being your safe haven. “Winchester, I’m serious!” Your patience with the entire arrangement was thin to begin with, but this smarmy bastard had somehow broken into your home and invaded your refuge. You had no qualms of getting into his personal space, your sharp nail digging into his chest as you poked him with each word. “What. The. Hell. Winch-”

It surprised you when he grabbed your hand, pushing past to drag you into the bathroom and slammed the door. He put his finger against your lips, his eyes begging you for silence. But he had just drug you into your own damn bathroom and you watched him with wide, incredulous eyes as he turned on the sink water full blast. He ducked into the shower, turning it on full blast. The room was filled with steam in no time.

“What the hell are you-”

“Oh, baby! Suck me, just like that!” He yelled as if you were giving him head, the following moans were pornographic. You felt your jaw drop. If you walked forward you would trip over it.

What the ever loving fuck was wrong with him???

He backed you into the shower, the water instantly soaking your pajamas and the only thing that evened the odds was that he was equally getting soaked. “Are you suffering from early on set dementia?” You asked seriously, wrapping your arms across your chest, backing as far away as you could from him.

He laughed, a sardonic laugh. A deprecating smile on his face as he reached to rub the back of his neck. “I wish.”

You continued to stare at him from your wet corner of the shower stall. For the first time you were actually worried about your safety. Even if the way his wet shirt was hugging the muscles in his arms and shoulders in completely inappropriate ways was momentarily distracting.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know who to trust and I think they’re bugging our apartments.”

He was dead serious, and you shivered despite the warm water. You hadn’t heard any rumors of the sort, but there was a good chance that Dean Winchester was freakin nuts. “What are you talking about?” Schizophrenia was looking rather likely. He’d shifted personalities at least twice in the course of the evening.

He motioned for you to hold on a minute, and that was absurd. Where the hell were you going to go? You were trapped in a steaming shower with a freakin psycho. He pulled a folded paper from his back pocket, unfolding it and shoving it in your face.

The white paper was soggy, the ink was slightly runny, but it was clear that it was an email correspondence. It didn’t make much sense at first, the communication was between someone from the CW and your manager (who happened to be Dean’s manager, too. Apparently.). The words were not specific, but they seemed to have sinister tones. More noticeable was the timeline of all of your dates up until this evening. “What?” You pushed the paper out of your face, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? You think that the CW is trying to get rid of us?”

He nodded, the green of his eyes catching you in an intense gaze, “Not just get rid of us. I think they’re trying to kill us.” You’d never seen this man so serious or so intent. He was always quick with a sarcastic remark or some caustic under tone. That you could handle. This though… You weren’t entirely sure what to do with.

“Why the hell would they be trying to kill us?” Okay, you really needed to get the hell out of this shower, preferably in the next few seconds. “The entire purpose of this whole dating thing is to make us more popular so that it will carry the show.” Even as you said the words you felt a little hollow. What he was saying was making you doubt. Why did any correspondence with the network suddenly sound morbid?

“Actually it was to make me seem more human, but clearly they didn’t know you too well.” He grumbled, shoving the soaking paper back into his pocket again. You shot him a disbelieving look, but he continued as if he didn’t see it. As if he didn’t sense your discomfort in his proximity. “Look, according to the email accounts that my brother hacked…”

“Your brother’s a hacker? You’re really good at breaking and entering, where the hell are you guys from?”

He rolled his eyes but continued, unfazed. “We will bring more publicity if we died tragically than if we actually had successful shows. It’s happened before. It’s all a ploy.” When you continued to gape at him, he explained further. “You mean to tell me you haven’t noticed a car tailing you lately? Or people that you don’t recognize loitering in your apartment building? I was tailed the entire way here!” He was looking incredibly manic with his usually perfectly tousled hair flattened to his forehead. Despite his insanity, he actually looked rather boyish and cute. Damn him.

The water was turning cold and it made you shiver, clenching your teeth to keep them from chattering.

He seemed to notice, his hand closing over your arm in an attempt to provide some sort of comfort. Was the man ever awkward? “I get it, you think I’m crazy. Just… Keep your eyes open, okay?” He reached behind you with his free hand, bringing him so close that you could feel the warmth of his body through his wet clothes. His lips were a mere inch from yours so that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke. “I’d hate for something to happen to you.”

When the water stopped, the roaring of blood in your ears took up the silence, and your skin was chilled with the absence of his body. He handed you one of your towels as he toweled his own hair off with a comfort in his own skin that you envied.

“I’ll meet you again in a few days. Let’s grab a burger this time, yeah? I’m so tired of those damn stuffy places.” He tossed his towel to the corner and strode out, making a big production of locking the door behind him.

You slid down the closed door, sodden clothes and all, feeling incredibly lost and absolutely confused as hell. Could you really afford to doubt Dean Winchester? What did he stand to gain from this? What did you stand to lose if he was wrong?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You investigate Dean Winchester further, beyond the playboy images pairing him with a different person every week on the internet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding more layers to the enigmatic Dean Winchester. Oh, and there'll be smut next chapter. You've been warned.

One thing was entirely certain after Dean’s visit. There was no way in hell you were going to sleep any time soon. The level of paranoia he’d left you with was so thick it was palpable. You were tempted to take one of those sleeping pills your agent had given you, but how could you be sure it was just a sleeping pill? The last time you’d met with Brenda you’d confessed that you weren’t sleeping very well and she’d happily given you a few of her own pills to try. At the time you’d been grateful. Brenda had always been nothing but kind to you in the face of the rest of your management team.

But now… You sighed heavily and settled down in front of your lap top with a brimming glass of red wine. Your hope was that the smooth liquid would help you to relax enough to fall asleep on your own. It happened to be in the off season, a period of a few months that you could sleep in just a little if you really wanted to. But, you had things to do the next day and you didn’t want to do anything that would tamper your effort in trying to be an adult for once in your life. You’d flunked out of your first year at UCLA because you couldn’t manage to get your shit together. It just wasn’t in your bones to multi task a career and college like so many successful people before you had. It was one of the things that would haunt you for the rest of your life with the what ifs. For now though, you could concentrate solely on your career. Stick with what you’re good at right?

Everyone aspired to put Vampire Hunter Whore on their resume…

At first, you searched Dean Winchester, which was a huge mistake. There was nothing really useful, only pictures of the countless women that he’d had ‘relations’ with. There were tons of pictures and you couldn’t help the slight twinge of jealousy. Dean Winchester looked at ease and relaxed with most of these different women. One might even argue that he was happy to be with them. It only drove the point home when you found a few pictures from the last date with you. He was smiling, but there was no crinkled eye corners or sparkle of mischief in his eyes. Nope. You weren’t an expert but Dean looked like he was faking big time. And he was supposed to be a damn good actor. You stopped looking after that.

More than a little hurt, especially seeing the joyous look on his face while he posed with a known escort, you typed in Mary Winchester instead. There was article after article about her suicide. There were no inconsistencies to be found. Mary Winchester was found in her home by John Winchester and her 9 year old son, Dean. They’d come home late from grabbing dinner after a little league football game. Sam, Mary and John’s youngest at 4 years old, was fast asleep in his bedroom one room over. John Winchester, cited to be in huge denial with the origins of his wife’s death, launched an investigation that lasted a couple of years. He was quoted to be unaware that his wife was suffering from depression and claimed that she had been murdered. However, people closest to her from the network were very forthcoming with information that John was lacking. Interviews with people that ranged from her personal assistant to the director of her latest blockbuster were published with irrefutable proof. Documentation that appeared to be medical records were released among the scandal.

Mary Winchester had suffered from bipolar depression for years in silence.

Mary Winchester had been recently turned down from a big role.

Mary Winchester over dosed on a bottle of sleeping pills and never woke up.

You felt a chill slip through you, nearly making your wine spill. How awful for the Winchester family to be so blindsided. No wonder Dean was so paranoid. Who would you believe? Your father or countless members of her management team and the press?

Even more heartbreaking were the pictures of the funeral. Little Dean and Sam Winchester dressed in dark suits trailing behind their father as they walked from the limo to Mary’s grave site. The funeral had been well attended by several A list celebrities, all shaking hands and bowing their heads in solemnity. But the picture that really caught your eye and made your heart squeeze in your chest was a picture of Dean standing in the middle of the black and white crowd looking much older than his 9 years.

It was that picture that made you feel entirely intrusive, even though the articles and pictures were all over the internet for anyone to see. No one should be caught feeling the myriad of emotions that were perfectly communicated on a young Dean’s baby face. His dull eyes were unmistakable, thick eye lashes framing a sheen of tears. You quickly closed down your computer before finishing your glass of wine in one gulp. You felt heavy and incredibly guilty. Perhaps you’d been miss reading Dean Winchester all along. Maybe he wasn’t entirely the stuck up playboy you had labeled him as.

The pictures stayed with you for days until you met with Dean at a local burger place that you’d never been to before. It was there that you felt your sympathy starting to slip.

“I gotta say, Y/N, I think I prefer you in no clothes at all.” He was smiling like the cat who ate the canary, a shit eating grin that was simultaneously attractive and annoying. He made no effort to conceal the way his eyes roved over the t-shirt and worn blue jeans you’d thrown on earlier. In place of the strappy black heels you’d worn previously you were wearing your trusty pair of flip flops. There was no need to keep up appearances for a damn unscheduled date at a burger place. He was dressed in an even more worn black Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans that had you wondering how it was actually not disintegrating.

You hadn’t notified anyone of your plans for the 'date’, so you couldn’t bring yourself to put forth the effort to be quite so fake. “Nice.” You deadpanned, fixing him with a look of utter bordem before taking a pointed bite of the burger that had been calling your name since it arrived. You stifled the pleased moan in your throat, it felt like weeks since you’d had red meat. Plus, it was a damn good burger.

“What, no spicy repartee? No angry banter? I gotta say, I’m shocked.” He was talking with his mouth stuffed full of fries and it merely made you roll your eyes in response as you silently chewed your food with your mouth closed, thank you very much.

He narrowed his eyes, stuffing his mouth full again. “What’s the matter with you?” He wiped his greasy fingers on his thighs.

What was the matter with you? Uh, how about you were entertaining two separate theories at the moment. Changing at rapid speeds between being scared for your life and thinking that possible insanity just ran in Dean Winchester’s family. That and a long history of a damn good gene pool. You’d seen a picture of adult Sam Winchester too. The entire family was freaking handsome.

Instead, you shrugged, swallowing your food before answering. “Nothings wrong.”

“I didn’t ask you what was wrong, darlin’. I could make a list a mile long with the information I’ve gathered from just a few nights around you.” His snarky grin muted, leaving his face with a strange expression of open concern. “Seriously, did something happen?”

His words snapped you out of your sudden fascination with the sincerity of his face, “Aside from you? Everything is just peachy.” Hey, when things got weird you resorted to your default defense mechanism, sarcasm.

He scoffed out a surprised laugh, bowing his head as he nodded in compliance. “Yeah, okay. I deserved that.”

You both ate in quiet contemplation, the sounds of the busy restaurant filling up the silence.

He continued to eye you suspiciously like you were just going to fall out. “So, everything been going okay?” He hedged after refilling his drink for the fourth time.

You shrugged, choosing not to tell him that you were still getting shit from the CW about not being out more in the public eye and playing your part. Brenda, bless her soul, had noted how stressed you were after the meeting. She’d given you a bottle of her anti-anxiety medication and a number for a doctor that she recommended. The stress of keeping up your facade and trying to reign in your paranoia was really getting to you, but the medication kept you off of the proverbial ledge. The guy sitting in front of you wasn’t helping matters. You hated the doubt he filled you with. Not only did he fill your head with crazy ideas, but he appeared to have no interest in you what so ever. He seemed more attuned and invested in his food than you most of the time.

Someone to your left cleared their throat pointedly, ending the stare off you had going with Dean. His studying expression broke into complete elation, his green eyes practically sparkled.

“Heya, Sammy!” He slid over in the booth, patting the seat beside him, the most devastating smile on his face. Sam slid in without preamble, their shoulders touching. “I didn’t think you were gonna make it.” Sam’s hand reached over and nicked a handful of fries causing Dean to make an indignant noise. “Hey, get your own bitch!” Sam ducked Dean’s attempt to swat the fries from his hand and retaliated with a more rough than necessary shove against Dean’s shoulder.

“I’ve been in classes all morning, jerk! I’m starving!” Sam at least had the decency to cover his mouth when he yelled back. He drank a few mouthfuls from his brother’s glass of coke, earning a glare with no real heat.

Dean huffed, “I swear, its like you’re still freakin’ five years old. Always grabby and whiny as hell, back washing in my damn drink.” He continued to grumble under his breath as the waitress took Sam’s order.

You watched their interaction with amusement, a warmth building in your chest as you watched the siblings banter. It made you miss your older sister and it’s not like you didn’t do that on a regular basis already. She was married with a child and living back home. It had never been a lifestyle that you had considered for yourself, but you couldn’t help the feeling that she was actually the more successful of the two of you.

Sam seemed to finally realize that you were still sitting there, “I’m sorry.” His voice was warm as well as his expression, every word spoken with certain sense of sincerity. “I’m Sam,” he offered his non greasy hand over the table, “It’s nice to meet you finally, Y/N. My idiot brother won’t shut up about you.” The comment earned him an elbow to the gut and he tried to hide the grimace, elbowing Dean back. Dean was less successful, nearly choking on his mouthful of burger.

You shook his hand and smiled, your attention directed more to Dean who was spluttering behind a closed fist. “You too.”

Sam clapped his brother on the back, “Easy there, Dean. I’ve told you to chew your food, not inhale it.”

Dean’s eyes watered, his face beet red as he shot a pointed glare back at his brother who seemed to be struggling to keep in a laugh.

Sam’s food arrived, a Cobb salad with oil and vinegar dressing. You didn’t even know this place served salads, but that was really besides the point. The real question was, why had Dean invited his brother?

As he set about preparing his salad to his own preferences, removing croutons and slicing up the boiled egg into smaller pieces, he directed his attention back to you. “So, Dean says that the CW is giving you a lot of grief. Anything else going on? Maybe something out of the ordinary that sticks out?”

So, he was in on the paranoia too. However, somehow it didn’t seem so crazy coming from him. Dean, who had been eyeing Sam’s salad with a look of disgust, snapped his attention to you. For once in the time that you’d known him, he seemed eager to hear your answer.

You and Sam conversed easily, informing him that there were no strange happenings aside from his brother assaulting you in your own shower. He seemed incensed on your behalf.

“Damnit Dean, I told you to find a way to tell her without freaking her out. You went all Mission Impossible!” Sam’s drink was empty, so he stole another mouthful from his brother’s glass. “Now she just thinks you’re crazy.”

Dean slouched down in the booth seat and crossed his arms, honest to God sulking when Sam turned his attention back to you. Just as he was about to speak again, the waitress appeared. She made sure that the needs of the table were met, inquiring if she could get us anything else.

Sam smiled sweetly, his dimples popping endearingly on his cheeks. The waitress seemed helpless against the deep blush that settled on her face and she nearly swooned. “No thanks, mam. We’ll just take the check.”

She pulled the ticket from her pocket, resting it right in front of Sam, making eye contact for just a second too long before she walked off to another table. Sam wouldn’t let you have the check before he smoothly handed it off to Dean with the arch of an eye brow, but you could see the purple glitter gel pen scrawl on the back and you were sure it was the waitresses phone number.

Before standing up, Sam convinced you to walk down the block with them to a coffee shop, The Frothy Whip. It was a nice over cast day outside, and you were never one to turn down a good cup of coffee.

Sam walked ahead of you, your arm brushing pleasantly with Dean’s as you walked side by side. He gave you a hesitant smile when you looked up at him, his eyes lighting up as he studied your face for a beat too long.

“What?” Your mind automatically trying to figure out if you had something on your face, self consciously running your tongue over your lips. Was there mustard on your nose? A piece of lettuce in your teeth?

His smile turned bashful, his face coloring high on his cheek bones. That was the last thing you were able to focus on before you were propelled forward, both you and Sam slamming into a biting brick wall. You turned just in time to see Dean roll over the hood of a black sedan before it pulled off of the side walk, tires squealing as it jumped back into traffic.

Sam pulled you up from the ground, careful to avoid the scrapes on the palm of your hand, and you were quick to spot Dean a few feet behind you. He was dusting himself off, favoring his right leg as he hobbled over at a quick pace. He looked to all the on lookers to be a little annoyed, but you could tell by the way he shook as he turned your injured hand in his that he was more affected than he let on.

“You okay?” His voice was low and breathy from having the air knocked out of his lungs, his green eyes wide and imploring. They seemed to track across your face and then the rest of your body for signs of injury.

“Yeah, are you?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, afraid that anything louder would give away how incredibly shaken up you were. You found your uninjured hand squeezing Dean’s upper arm in comfort, scanning his face for some kind of clue.

His normally cock sure smile was diluted, “I’m okay.” His hand settling over yours and squeezing back.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Sam mumbled with a bit of salt as he made himself known, causing you to take a step back. “The couple across the street called the cops. They’ll be here in just a few minutes, but no one was able to get a number off the plates because they were blacked out.”

If it was possible, the fact that the creepy black sedan had blacked out plates freaked you out even more. The car had been aiming for either you or Dean or both. This wasn’t just a random hit and run. Someone had taken the time to black out their plates to make them unidentifiable. You would have been run over like a squirrel if Dean hadn’t shoved you out of the way.

You stayed to give a statement to the police when they arrived, but you were more than ready to go when they finished with you an hour later. You were surprised that you had remained on your feet the entire time. Your legs felt like they were made of jelly and you wobbled a little as you headed in the direction of your car. It was parked only a couple of blocks down and you were promising your body that if you remained ambulatory that you’d have a nice, hot bubble bath. Forget wine, perhaps it was time to break out the whiskey you kept stashed on top of the refrigerator.

The entire situation made you edgy, causing you to look over your shoulder repeatedly.

“You’re not gonna let the paramedics check you over?”

You nearly jumped a mile out of your skin before you registered Dean hobbling along next to you, that open look of concern on display again. “Jesus!” Your hand covered your heart, trying to prevent the organ from busting forth from your chest. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that!”

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement and for once you weren’t the slightest bit annoyed. Maybe it was the fact that you no longer had the energy to be. “Sorry about that. But, I don’t see how you missed me coming, walking like a zombie and all.”

“Did you get checked by the paramedics?” You gave him as long of a glance as you could without running into anything on the sidewalk. You saw him shrug and the movement caused him to grimace.

“S'just a bruise. I’m fine.”

Your perilous grip on being reasonable suddenly snapped. “Yeah, you’re fine.” Your voice was heavily coated with sarcasm with a hint of hysteria. The more you spoke, the higher pitched your voice became. The less oxygen you seemed to be able to bring into your lungs. “Oh yeah, we’re all just fine. We just merely escaped becoming roadkill, but we’re just fine! You were tossed in the air by some stupid, tinted windowed hunk of metal, but yeah. Sure. Fine. Perfect. Bloody fucking gr-”

Dean’s lips collided with yours in such a way that stole what oxygen you had left. His warm body urgently pressed yours into the cool glass window of the pharmacy you were just passing. There weren’t enough brain cells left to rub together to put into words what effect his perfect, soft lips were having on the rest of your body. His mouth was wet and pure heat as he devoured your lips like you were the cure to all that ailed him.

His hands came up to cradle your face, tilting his face a little so he could practically reach your tonsils. You felt the soft moan from deep in his throat tickle the roof of your mouth, a burst of pleasure sliding down your spine. You could feel the heat of his body, the solid effects your proximity was having on him. It was then that you finally found those two brain cells and pushed him away with whatever strength you had left. You became a little dizzy as oxygen was finally able to rush back in as you panted. “What was that?” Your heart was still hammering away inside your chest. You could tell that your stupid, traitorous pupils were blown so wide you had a little trouble focusing.

There was color high on Dean’s cheeks and he was drawing in air desperately through his kiss bruised lips. When he spoke, his voice was a slightly lower octave and raspy. “You were gonna freak out. I didn’t know what else to do!” His eyes were wide with barely contained panic.

“So you kissed me?!”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged as if the entire situation was no big deal and kissing had been the obvious fix. “It worked, didn’t it?”

You sighed, closing your eyes against his non apologetic stance and counted to ten before you began to walk off in the direction of your car again. You needed about three ativan and a really long nap. “Next time you feel like helping, don’t.”

“Noted.” He seemed exhausted now and it seemed to dawn on you then that he was alone and his car was in the opposite direction.

“Where are you going?” You stopped again, noting the stiff way that Dean was now carrying himself. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.

“With you.” He answered like you were the slow one.

You fought hard not to roll your eyes, but lost the battle. “Why?”

“You almost became roadkill casserole not an hour ago and you’re telling me you want to be alone?”

You didn’t even have to contemplate his words before you began your journey again. “Good point.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Reader fall into bed. It is quite literally a delicious battle for dominance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut follows. Prolific, messy smut. You have been warned. Let me know what you think.

You barely had time to close the door to your apartment before Dean was pushing you against it, blanketing your body with his and leaving nothing to the imagination as to what he wanted. Yes, you were still sore from the jolt of being pushed out of the way, but it became background static. You were tired of fighting the attraction you had for him and had no energy left to muster up the fight to push him away. His lips were soft and warm as they migrated to mouth wetly at your neck, then suck ardently at your rabbiting pulse. 

Finally, you were able to let your hands wander beneath his shirt, to drag against his warm skin beneath your fingers. Smoothly, in a way you were sure only Dean Winchester could get away with, his hips undulated against your upper leg, grinding an already impressively hard cock. You could feel the damp heat of precome seeping through his paper worn jeans into yours. 

He nibbled his way back to your mouth, tasting your ear lobe and jaw line like a fine delicacy with his teeth before your lips were fused together again. You let his tongue plunder your mouth thoroughly before you sucked it gently between your lips, pulling him even closer to you. Giving him more friction made his already panting breath catch loudly in his throat, his hold on your hips tightening. And oh God you wanted more, now. "Bed." You mumbled, not relinquishing his mouth as you pushed him towards your bedroom. Your hands made quick work of his t-shirt and you were starting in on the button fly of his jeans before you even crossed the threshold of your doorway.

"Bossy." He muttered against your mouth and you could feel his lips twitch upwards into a smile as he was busy divesting you of your own clothes. To be honest, you weren't really paying attention. All you wanted was to feel his freckled skin against your own and you desperately wanted to taste. When his knees hit the edge of your bed he let you push him down flat against the comforter, his knees still bent over the side, and straddle his hips. You were finally naked, wet and greedy against him and you both moaned on contact.

His hands were threaded in your hair as you bent over to explore the expanse of creamy skin spread before you. You tasted and sucked over his collarbone and chest, tasting the salt of the sweat beginning to cling to his skin. You couldn't keep yourself from marking his throat and chest with little red love bites and deep purple bruises as he writhed beneath you. You couldn't get enough contact as your hands smoothed and kneaded the skin of his upper back and arms as you swirled your hips in the slightest pressure against his groin. You luxuriated in the needy, hurt, desperate noises he was making in his throat. His hands didn't stop roving over your body, caressing your back and ass with heavy strokes as he rocked up against you.

And soon you found yourself on your back, barely being able to register the change before Dean took control. He rocked down against your soaking entrance with more pressure, attacking your mouth with renewed enthusiasm. His big, warm hands skimmed from your hips, down your thighs to your knees where he pulled them up to his waist. He squeezed, a silent command to keep them there. And suddenly, he was just that much closer and you couldn't get enough contact as your knees wrapped around him and struggled to pull him further in.

"Damn, Sweetheart. I had no-uh-idea you'd be like-oh fuck-Mmm..." His words were coming out garbled and husky against your neck, but it wasn't enough of a distraction not to notice that he was readying to penetrate you. With more cognizance than you thought possible, you reached out and grabbed the base of his cock in a firm grip. "Hey!"

"C-condom." You stuttered out, turning your restraining grip into torture as you stroked him without enough friction.

Suddenly, he looked panicked and couldn't help the thrust of his hips into your hand. "W-what?" Apparently Mr. Playboy Dean Winchester was unprepared and looked like you had just told him that the Santa Claus wasn't real.

You huffed a breath, half exasperation half sexual frustration. "Drawer, nightstand. Now." Reluctantly he turned to dig in the drawer of your nightstand. You, however, were unwilling to let this break for intelligence take away from your buzz. You slid your own hand down through your slick folds and directly to your clit. The contact made you thrash your head and moan, your free hand grabbing up sheet beneath your fingers. "Mmm, hurry up Winchester."

His head whipped back around at the noise you made, condom in hand, his jaw hanging open. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck!" He moaned as he struggled with the foil wrapper, his eyes comically wide despite his wildly blown pupils. His tongue was firmly captive between his teeth as he tried to concentrate. 

Despite finding his actions amusing, you couldn't quite commiserate while your finger tips were doing what he was not. "I'm gonna finish this party without you." You cooed and watched his eyes widen further through your enraptured gaze, your hips undulating beneath your own ministrations.

Finally, he clumsily slid the bright pink condom over his throbbing cock and fell down against you without any grace what so ever. Both his hands cupped your face as he blanketed your body, his fingers threading into your hair as he kissed you thoroughly, forcefully. When he pulled back he was breathless, watching you with an openly mystified expression. "Where the hell did you come from?"

You blinked slowly up at him, too wrapped up in your own pleasure, your bottom lip between your teeth as you moaned in reply. The noise broke the spell and he batted your hand away like it personally offended him and settled himself at your entrance again. His eyes met yours again, seeking permission and slowly eased in with a nod of your head. And oh God, he was so hard and it was so delicious as he sank into you. His lips were a firm presence against your own, stealing your panting breath. But the slow slide made you impatient so you smoothed your hands down to his ass and squeezed, pulling him into you, bringing a quick satisfying fullness where you needed it.

His vociferous moan was completely involuntary, punching out of him, your actions catching him by surprise. His mouth momentarily went slack as you continued to kiss and mouth and suck at his bottom lip as you urged him to move. He swore against your lips before he got back with the program, his body already shivering in rapture against your welcoming skin. His thrusts started off deep and slow, thorough enough to satisfy the yearning of thickfullnow, but not enough. His leisurely pace brought a slow, throbbing pleasure to your core. Your lips tingled from where he was ravaging your mouth with abandon, his tongue mapping and claiming like no one else ever had.

But you didn't sign up for slow and languorous. You wanted your fix and you wanted it now. Before he knew what the fuck was happening you put your training for the show to good use. You unseated him before your rolled him over and took control, sliding back onto him without preamble. Your satisfied hum was drowned out by the deep groan rumbling from deep in his chest. His body arched up into yours and answered enthusiastically to the quick pace you set.

"Oh, shit. Y/N. Oh-ngh!" You were both a writhing mess, but he was definitely more vocal about it. He was what your roommate in college had called a 'screamer' and holy fuck you loved it. "Don't stop." He begged, each word he tried to speak between breathy moans. Each time his hips met yours with enthusiasm drove you further and further to the edge. "Please don't stop." And, God you were so ready to throw yourself off of the edge with arms wide fucking open.

"Dean..." His thrusts were so deliciously hard it made it difficult for you to speak, but you were begging. "Please, Oh God." gasp. "Touch me."

He made a helpless sound and instantly was proping himself up with one elbow as he kneaded one breast in his hand. His mouth latched onto the other, breathing harshly through his nose as he tongued your nipple to stand up. He only paused to moan, the sound vibrating against your wet, soft skin. The pleasure ratcheted up a notch, his change in position causing you to falter in your rhythm. God, you wanted more. Each buck of his hips seemed to drive him right into your sweet spot. With desperate hands you pulled his face closer, your nails digging into his scalp and neck which only seemed to spur his hard thrusts on. He took long, sucking pulls between tender nibbles in the onslaught of your chest and you couldn't get enough.

"Shit, Dean. More. Please. I need more." You thought you couldn't get enough, watching his blood red, slick lips suckle your pale breast in his mouth with nothing less than devotion. However, two confident fingers found your clit and you were gone. Head thrown back as you writhed in perfect pleasure, mouth gaping, helpess against the onslaught. You gave yourself over to him, let him wring every last bit of pleasure out of your cooperative body. Your hands were now on his shoulders, finger nails piercing into the cinnamon smattered skin as you shuddered and gasped. He didn't give up his tongue swirling around your nipple or his hand on your clit until it was just too much and you twitched away with a groan.

You found yourself on your back again, his thrusts becoming more manic as he took his pleasure from your blissed out body. His lips and teeth made a mess of your throat, his desperate moans making his voice hoarse against your damp skin. Still riding your orgasmic high, you couldn't help the after shocks of pleasure that his noises created as he held onto you like you might just disappear. One arm was beneath your shoulders when the other hand held so firmly to your hip that you were sure there would be bruises.

You could tell he was getting close by the way his body began to quake and you brought his lips to yours so you could feel it. "That's it, Dean." You whispered against his mouth, meeting him thrust for thrust. "So fucking sexy, listen to you." You snaked your hand beneath your leg, letting your finger tips gently roll and tug his tight sac.

"Oh, fuck. Y/N! Gonna-" He jolted, his thrusts faltering before he buried his face in your neck and came. You felt the pulse and twitch inside you before he yelled a hoarse, wrecked moan tightly against your skin. The kicks of his orgasm seemed borderline painful as his hips thrust in short, abortive twitches. He shook with each kick, his breath stuttering and gasping in blissed out moans until he could finally wheeze out, "S-son of a bitch." 

Not only was Dean Winchester a 'screamer', but the man didn't hold anything back.

You allowed his hot, sweaty mass to lay on top of you for a few minutes. Too blissed out to really care too much about breathing or the fact that he kept snuffling and rooting against your neck. You felt the fondness swell in your chest, indulging yourself as you carded your fingers through the short spikes of his hair. Before you knew it you fell asleep, a content feeling spreading thickly through your bones.

************

"Dean." He was sprawled out on his stomach, breathing deeply into one of your pillows. You rubbed a hand over his naked back, not being able to take your eyes off his side and upper thigh. Now that you weren't blind with lust you could see the deep bruising developing that he'd sustained while getting rolled by that car and it made you wince in sympathy. You were a little sore from the jolt of it because you'd been still for a little while. You couldn't imagine how sore Dean would be and it was hard to ignore when it was in it's black and purple glory right in front of you.

When he only grumbled incoherently you laid down next to him, brushing soft kisses across his shoulder, his arm and his cheek. You paid extra attention to the scratches that you'd dug into his skin with only the tiniest feeling of remorse. You dipped down to kiss the soft, fragile skin of his eyelid, then his nose before pressing your lips to the corner of his. He looked so damn peaceful and innocent and you felt this crazy feeling of possessiveness get caught in your throat. The idea of him being in pain pulling up images of the little boy at the funeral and it made your heart hurt.

"Dean, c'mon. Wake up." You traced your finger over the sharp line of his jaw, the rough skin of his scruffy cheek, then over the gentle cuff of his ear. The tickle sensation got his attention. He smacked his lips, swatting lazily at your hand before directing a sleepy, questioning gaze your way. "It's 9 o'clock, is there anywhere you need to be?"

He slowly rolled over onto his back, letting out a pain filled moan and then unsuccessfully trying to stifle it. "No." He choked out, grimacing as he sat up with the deepest care. If the man wasn't in so much pain it would have been adorable the way his hair was standing in all directions.

"Good, c'mere." You held out your hands and he didn't hesitate to take them. He let you lead him to your bathroom, his gait that of the shuffle of an old man. "You sure I shouldn't take you somewhere..."

"Nah, m'fine. No hospitals." He avoided looking at you, his eyes instead roving over your most prized possession with curiosity.

Your porcelain, claw foot tub was full to the brim with lavender scented epsom salts and hot, steaming water. You'd lit the candles that you normally had scattered around your bathroom for such an occasion. It was the only thing you could think about when you woke up feeling sore so you assumed this would also be good for him too. "You don't have to," you reassured, not wanting to push him into something he didn't want to do. "I just thought it would feel nice."

He pinned curious eyes on you, and he spent a moment scrutinizing you like he was trying to figure you out. After a few moments of silence he seemed to remember that you'd said something. "No, it looks great. Let's do it." A diluted smile sprung up on his face as he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"None of that." You said sternly, resisting the urge to swat at him, "Just get in the tub."

He saluted you, making you laugh, but then used you for balance as he slowly stepped over the lip of the tub. His sleep warmed skin leaned heavily into you. First one foot, then the other. He used the sides of the tub to slowly lower himself into the water, hissing through his teeth at the temperature then groaning in contentment when he was fully settled.

You started on the opposite side of the tub trying to keep your distance but ended up in Dean's lap while you traded soft, unhurried kisses. You stayed in the tub until you couldn't refill it with hot water any more. After taking some Advil, both of you wordlessly curled around each other on the bed and fell into a deep sleep. Your head on his shoulder, his nose in your hair.

The next morning when you woke up, you tried to tell yourself how silly the disappointment was when you realized he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N gets an unexpected visitor.

Collide Part 4

You tried to push away the sharp disappointment you felt at the discovery of his absence, but found it surprisingly difficult. You kept telling yourself, as you examined your well and thoroughly debauched body in the bathroom mirror, that this was just who Dean Winchester was. That just because you'd felt something last night didn't mean that he did. Hell, according to the internet, Dean slept through women as regularly as most people drank water. As soon as this stupid conspiracy was solved you'd probably never talk to the man again. You had to start acting like it instead of some love struck fan girl. By the time you were dressed in a pair of worn out pink Victoria Secret sleep bottoms and a black tank top, you had half convinced yourself that everything was going to be okay.

That was until you heard the noise of your coffee pot being placed back into the machine with a loud clanking noise and then begin to percolate.

Cautiously, on tip toes, you snuck around the couch in the living room and took a peek around the corner of the doorway into your small kitchen. Because, seriously, who would break in just to make coffee? And there was Sam Winchester, set up at your kitchen table with a bagel and his laptop looking to all the world like he belonged there. Were the freakin Winchester's ever awkward and out of place? Ever? And didn't the bastards ever knock or call ahead of time?

When he noticed you from his perch by the kitchen counter he smiled brightly and stood up. "Good morning! You want some breakfast?" He took a quick look at his phone, "Or, um, some lunch?"

"Umm..." What the ever living fuck was going on? You tried not to show just how wierded out you were by his trespass or the fact that he was offering you your own food from out of your own cupboards. "I'm good thanks. I'll just have some coffee I think." 

"Oh." His lips tightened as he sensed the awkwardness, but then turned around to pull out a coffee cup to place next to his while you waited for the coffee to percolate. He was drinking out of your cup that said, 'I do not spew profanities. I enunciate them clearly... Like a fucking lady.' Interesting choice Sam Winchester.

You kind of felt bad now that his happy sunshine greeting had deflated from him in the face of your suspicion, but really. What the hell? You sighed before you set about preparing the sugar and milk that you liked in your coffee. "Did you find everything you needed?" You asked in a half sincere, half slightly irritated tone.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks." His kicked puppy expression was a blow to the chest and you decided you were going to go easy on him. The fact that the expression probably got him whatever he wanted was only slightly disconcerting.

"So..." You poured your coffee and took a seat across from his laptop. Just breathing in the earthy notes of the steaming, dark brew loosened a bit of the tension in your shoulders. "What brings you by?"

He poured himself a cup and sat down before he answered you, "Well, I didn't have any classes and Dean had some stuff he needed to take care of and he was worried about leaving you here all alone... So, he asked me to hang out for a few hours." He paused to take a breath and a sip of his black coffee. "I also hacked into your wifi... You were asleep and I didn't want to wake you up so... I hope you don't mind."

Once again, Sam oozed sincerity and it was really hard to hang on to being as bitter as you wanted to be for your privacy being invaded. "Oh, no problem." You rolled your eyes internally for being so damn accommodating just because of his honest, warm eyes. God damnit. "Are you and Dean any closer to figuring this whole... thing out?" You weren't sure what to call it. If you called it a conspiracy to their face it seemed like you were insulting their intelligence somehow.

Sam typed a few key sequences on his lap top before answering, "We've narrowed it down to two main people. There may be more people involved, but we figured that it would start with someone who was working for the network back when Mom was still working for them." He turned the screen so that you could see it, "We think its either one of these two." He pointed to two pictures at the top of the screen side by side. The older man had greying, short curly hair and glasses. The other was a picture of a middle aged woman with brown hair and a fake smile. Both, if you were honest enough with yourself, didn't look like someone who would kill anyone. "The first one is the President, Mark Pedowitz. He was Vice President in Marketing when Mom died and then this one is Lori Openden. She was only a lower level employee in talent and casting."

"So, what did they have to do with your Mom?" Each time you said Mom, you felt this pang of guilt because you didn't even know the woman. However, saying Mrs. Winchester just seemed too impersonal.

Sam took a deep breathe, like whatever he was about to say weighed heavily on him. "Well, Openden was on the committee who reviewed her last audition. She was also very outspoken about Mom's so called depression at the time... When she..." This was the first time you'd ever seen one of the Winchester's stumble and you had to fight the urge to reassure him in some way. You could tell just talking about his Mom was painful for him. He cleared his throat, "She was seen having dinner with Pedowitz a couple of times, but that's the only link we can find. There's no correlation between Pedowitz and Openden so far."

"Well, that's some progress, right? At least you've got two names to work with." Why you were trying to put a positive spin on things was kind of baffling, but you needed it and maybe Sam did too.

"Yeah." He gave you a small smile, nothing like the full dimpled smile you'd seen the previous day, but it was still something. He seemed to understand what you were trying to do. It made you wonder how Sam had turned out the way he had and Dean seemed to have gone in the opposite direction. Everything about Sam was warm and optimistic. Dean, on the other hand, was edgy and suspicious. Even when you were trying to make him more comfortable last night, he didn't trust it. And wasn't it odd that the brother that you'd slept with was not the one you were talking to the morning after?

The silence wasn't unpleasant as you drank the rest of your coffee while he worked on his laptop and you found yourself thinking about last night. How, after you'd basically screwed each other's brains out, Dean was sweet and relaxed. How, during he'd seemed completely enamored with you. Then, you scoffed at yourself for your cotton candy mushy thoughts. He obviously wasn't enamored enough not to sneak out the next morning and drag his little brother in to make sure the network didn't kill you. Ha. Kill you. What a crazy freaking concept. You huffed out a breath, catching Sam's attention. "You don't have to baby sit me, you know? I'm sure you've got plenty of other things to do."

He looked up through his bangs, leveling you with an appraising glance. "Dean would murder me if I left you here by yourself."

You rolled your eyes visibly this time, nearly getting a headache with the exaggerated movement. "Right. I'm sure I'm perfectly fine in my apartment. I promise to be careful. I don't need someone watching out for me." You stomped over to the coffee pot like a tempestuous child to fix another cup. Dean Winchester could kiss your ass with his half baked chivalry. Really. Screw. Him.

Instead of rising to your bait for an argument he calmly walked over to the trash can and began rifling through the top trash. You watched him silently, stopping mid pour to allow all of your brain cells to figure out just... what the fuck! Why was Sam digging through your damn garbage? Could your life get any damn wierder?

He made a small noise of victory as he seemed to find what he was looking for and held it out in his palm for you to see. There were four small black things that were electronic and obviously crushed beyond repair. "We found one in each room of this apartment last night. We had our friend Cliff sweep it over really well."

You apartment had been bugged, and wasn't that just terrific. It made the crazy, paranoid shower debacle completely necessary. Damnit. And... "Say what? Who swept what when?" Your eyes bore into Sam's back as he turned to drop the ruined bugs back into the trash.

Now, he looked a little uncomfortable, giving you a wide berth as he walked back over to his chair. "Uh, before you woke up we had Cliff have a look around. He's been in charge of security as long as I remember. He's really good."

So, while you were sleeping... naked... there was a strange man named Cliff snooping around your entire apartment. "Okay." You took a cleansing breath and put your cup to the side, "Is everything saved?"

He looked up at you with wide eyes when you pointed at his computer, but you weren't going to fall for it this time. He nodded affirmatively and you slapped it closed. "Pack it up. Now. Out." You made a shooing motion with your hands.

"Oh, come on." He looked absolutely melancholy as he began packing his things away. His tone was absolutely pitiful, "Don't make me leave. Dean'll never let me live it down."

You put your hands on your hips, trying to shield yourself from his expression, but damnit, it was hard. He was moving in slow motion, taking his sweet time to clear his things away and stand up. You needed him to leave so that you could freak out on your own and stress eat. Number one stress eating item of the day was chocolate chip cookie dough and if he was around you might actually have to bake it to save face.

"Dean means well. He can't help he's emotionally retarded and this is his only way of showing that he cares. Don't make me go. He's really worried about you. He doesn't want the same thing to happen to you that happened to Mom." 

You snapped, "Oh yeah, cared so much that he fucked me and then left his brother to baby sit me the morning after! And didn't care to tell me just what the hell was going on!"

Okay, Sam didn't deserve that, but it was already said. He didn't even seem phased, still looking a certain degree of pitiful that made your stomach twist a little. "I told you, he's emotionally retarded. I don't even mean that as a joke. Don't put yourself in danger just because he's an idiot."

There was that heart felt sincerity again. Damnit! It looked like you'd be baking your cookie dough after all.

*******************  
Sam gladly helped you bake and eat your cookies and you enjoyed his company after you got over the feeling of being violated. He had made a last case for Dean, telling you that he'd never been the same since their Mom had died. He didn't let himself get attached to very many people. It soothed a few feathers, but not all of them.

Dean showed back up at 6pm with a bag of take out from the local Indian restaurant and a shit eating smirk. "Did you ladies have a great day together?"

Sam silently flipped him off as he rummaged through the bags and you narrowed your eyes. You had forgiven Sam for his role in this morning but it was going to take a little more time for you to forgive Dean for ditching without even so much as a text message. So, it didn't mean anything to him. You just had to show him just how much it didn't get to you.

"Yeah," you redirected your attention to the food as well, trying to keep up a care free facade. "We made cookies."

Dean's eyes narrowed, a look of utter perplexity on his face. "Cookies?"

"Chocolate chip." Sam happily piped in to aid in his brother's torment, handing you a metal tin of red curry. "None left though, sorry."

Dean huffed, landing on the couch with more bounce than necessary with his arms crossed and an exorbitant pout on his face.

Dean revealed that he had been at the CW headquarters for the majority of the day, sneaking in and out of offices that he had no business being in. However, he happily supplied a couple more email addresses for Sam to hack into. He didn't have any more new information to report, but was pleased with himself for the information that he had gathered.

Arrangements for the night watch were made between the boys that obviously didn't include you. You found yourself alone with Dean Winchester again and it was almost more than you could handle. Especially when he was trying everything in his power to end up in your personal space and all you could think about was the night before. And how he'd looked fucking fantastic naked.

Dean put his hands on your hips and nuzzled your neck while you washed the dishes. He followed you around house, watching you wash your face and brush your teeth while he talked about his day. He was right behind you while you pulled out a blanket and some pillows to put on the couch. And he followed you right up until the point you shut the bedroom door in his face. 

"Goodnight, Dean." There was a loud answering huff, but he didn't argue. You laid down in bed trying to convince yourself that this outcome was a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not used to writing a lot of Sam in my fictions so I hope that I have done him justice. Please let me know what you think! Do you think that the reader is reacting the right way because of Dean's behavior?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Y/N can't catch a moment of peace.

You awoke to the sound of your door easing open slowly, it creaked a little on its hinges, the sound grated against your ears. Your eyes were wide fucking open but seriously disabled in the dark that shadowed your bedroom. You didn't have a weapon, the only thing you could do was keep still and watch as the even darker figure eased into your room and closed the door behind it with care. That seemed a little odd to you and was probably why you didn't shriek like a banshee when the figure sidled up to the side of the bed and whispered, "Y/N?"

"Dean, what the-?" He slapped a hand rather unceremoniously over your mouth as you sat up, there was moisture on his palm. Whatever was going on was making him nervous enough to sweat.

"Shhh... There's someone breaking in through the front door." He was still whispering while his eyes roved over your bedroom, looking for a place to hide or escape.

"What?" You whisper yelled-back, sliding out of the covers in your camisole and boy shorts to stand. Despite the situation, you caught Dean eyeballing the silky, light purple material that was clinging to your body like a second skin. Mission accomplished, but now really wasn't the time!

He shook his head, clearing the lust from his eyes. Seriously, did the man only think with his dick? Not that it was a bad dick... It obviously had great taste, but that was beside the point. "We gotta get out of here." He jerked your arm so that you would follow, his hand settling into yours as he pulled you behind him. He shoved open the window and stuck his head out, turning to look from side to side before pushing you in front of him. You looked out the window, the slight chill in the air made your eyes water. It definitely wasn't because you were afraid of heights and your apartment was on the fifth floor. Nope.

"I can't." You automatically pulled back, hearing the door to your living room slide open and hit the wall with a dull thud. You physically shivered, leaning back into Dean's heat close behind you. Whoever it was, they were not being careful.

"You have to." He answered by your ear with a vehemency that scared you, "Look, just..." He swung his legs out onto the iron planter and you watched as he grabbed the bottom of the fire escape and swung down to the next level with a grace you couldn't have imagined. "Now you." He reached his hand out, beckoning you to him. 

Seriously, he just expected you to pull a Van Dam without a good amount of alcohol in your system first?

Your knuckles were going white on the window sill and Dean's eyes were pleading with you, but you weren't completely motivated until you heard something glass break outside your door. And if that wasn't motivation enough, your door handle twitched like someone was trying to open it. Dean must have locked it when he came in. That was the only reason you had time to climb out onto the planter and swing down, your heart struggling to jump up into your throat.

He caught you around the waist and hugged you close for a moment to steady you and you found you didn't want to let go for a couple of important reasons. One, it was Dean and God did he smell good and feel so warm and solid while you felt like you were breaking apart. Two, you were now four stories from the pavement below and you were terrified.

To maintain a little dignity you were the first to let go, but soon found yourself crouched down, clinging to the bars with his body blanketing you from behind as the window above shattered. Glass spilled around you, tinkling down in a caustic shower that Dean's body shielded you from.

"C'mon." He urged quietly, grabbing your hand in a firm grip again and leading you down the iron stairs two at a time. If it wasn't for him leading you and being able to watch every footfall, you would've fallen down.

The tension didn't leave your body once your feet hit the ground. You looked up just in time to see a shadowed figure leaving the frame of your bedroom window. They'd seen you leaving and that very idea sent a chill through your entire body. You had the sinking suspicion that you'd just been herded like a flock sheep.

Dean bundled you into the passenger seat of his car, the scent of worn leather hitting your nose. Once seated, he pulled out his phone and dialed 911. You listened quietly as Dean explained to the operator what was happening, shivering in your seat from the chill and the nerves. It had barely been over twenty four hours since you were nearly pancaked by a car. Now, you were sitting in Dean's locked Impala waiting for the cops to arrive, resisting the urge to run your fingers through Dean's hair to dislodge the pieces of glass you saw there. 

When they did arrive, Dean left his car running and you were grateful for the warmth that it provided. It was then that you realized you were still in your pajamas. Fuck. It was meant to torment Dean, not show off too much skin to officers of the law as they set up boundaries.

Your nerves were completely frayed, so you jumped and nearly broke your neck on the ceiling when someone knocked on the car window. That person just happened to be Sam Winchester and you couldn't stop yourself from feeling grateful that he was here too. You opened the door, spying Dean only a few feet away talking to the police chief, his eyes sliding over to check on you from time to time. 

"Just can't stay out of trouble, huh?" Sam's smile was fond as he draped one of those awful gray emergency blankets tightly across your shoulders before crouching down to your level. "Dean thought you might want to cover up."

"Thanks." You didn't care whose idea it was, you were just grateful not to be half naked surrounded by half of the police force. You even noted a couple of cameras going off just beyond the yellow tape and that made you roll your eyes. The network was going to get their wish of more publicity. "How bad is it?"

Sam's smile dimmed and you knew it was bad just looking at him. 

"Did they catch anyone?" His big hand soothed over your shoulder for a short moment to offer some comfort.

"No, not a damn trace, but it all has to be connected and we will find them, Y/N. I swear we will and this will all be over." He showed just as much conviction as Dean had trying to get you to jump out of a window five stories from the ground. And funny how you'd followed him. You're not sure you would've been able to follow any one else. He removed his hand and shifted a little, a look of trepidation taking over his features. "Dean figures we should take you back to our place for the night. Is that okay with you?"

The independent streak you had was a mile long, but there was no way you could go back in that apartment right now. "Yeah, if that's okay. I could always get a hotel room or something if its not."

Sam looked incredibly offended, shaking his face to get the bangs out of his narrowed eyes. "No way. You're saying with us."

"Let's scoot." Dean magically appeared at the driver's side door, sliding in and fixing you with a look. For the first time he was asking. "You ready to go?"

It only took a silent nod from you before he was starting up the car with practiced ease and sliding her into drive. Sam was gonna follow behind us in his Honda Civic. The vehicles spoke volumes about the differences between Sam and Dean's personality. 

Dean was flashy, he liked to show off, but you could tell that he put a lot of his own work into this car. The leather interior was soft, and well cared for. There wasn't a garage sticker in the upper left corner of his wind shield because he likely did the oil changes and any work on his car on his own. Pride was evident on his face as he caught you admiring the classic beauty that was the Impala.

Sam, on the other hand, had chosen something aesthetically pleasing, but a lot more practical. It was gas efficient and you imagined that he kept the maintenance up to date between school. He was smart and practical and probably balanced Dean's wild side nicely.

"C'mon, Baby. Let's go." He patted the dashboard affectionately and pulled away from the place that you had once felt safe and would now need to work up some serious gumption to re-enter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! This turned out to be so short... But, I'm already mostly done with the next part so it will be coming soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader puts her freaking foot in her mouth. Drama ensues.

It was a few minutes past two am when you arrived at the house the boys shared. It was a lot more sedate than you would've pictured for the two sons of Hollywood royalty. The furniture was worn like it was either well used or second hand and Sam went in ahead of you to grab the dirty clothes that were scattered around the den. You didn't see it all but you managed to spot the boxer briefs he had to jump up to grab off of the small chandelier in the dining room.

Dean actually looked a little sheepish, "I'll uh... I'll get something for you to change into." He disappeared into a room to the left, leaving you with Sam who was cramming his armful of clothes in the crack between the couch and the wall.

"Sorry, we usually don't bring anyone here." Sam actually looked a little flustered and you found that you were enjoying the fact that they were out of their element. "Can I get you something to drink?"

You had to stifle a smile because of Sam's need to play host even if it wasn't his own house. "No, I'm good thanks." 

He nodded gravely before running a hand through his dark brown hair, "Well, make yourself at home. I know it's kind of a mess right now, but I can promise you won't get any diseases. Dean never brings anyone back here. I would just stay away from the basement. It hasn't been cleaned since we moved in."

You heard the message in between the friendly offer and you once again found yourself grateful for Sam. He was obviously looking out for his brother, but it was comforting to you too. Dean doesn't bring anyone back here and that fostered a large amount of warmth in your chest. "Thanks." Despite the warm and fuzzy that had just been imparted to you, the air was still cool and it clung to you like the fear still vibrating beneath your skin. Your home had just been broken into and it had sent a clear message. They weren't playing around anymore and you feared what could happen next.

Which was why, after Dean had brought you a pair of gym shorts and a t shirt and Sam had said his goodnights, you stuck to Dean's side like a grade A clinger. Despite how needy and ridiculous it made you feel, Dean didn't seem to notice or mind. He let you crawl into his bed and burrow beneath the covers next to him without question and you were once again forced to consider that Dean Winchester wasn't as tough as he would like you to think. You were so close that you could feel his every inhale and exhale and it lured you into a blessed state of calm. 

Your head was tucked just beneath his chin, so when you spoke it was into the firm muscles of his chest. "Thank you."

His warm, broad hand slid up your flank to rest on your back in a move of comfort. He didn't even go for a little side boob action and you were surprised to find yourself a little disappointed. He inhaled deeply, and when he spoke his warm breath soaked into your hair. "I'm sorry about your apartment."

And it did suck. Your whole life was in that apartment and you'd worked hard to be able to afford a place of your own. But, it was all replaceable some how. Dean had managed to get you out alive and even brought you to his home. "It could've been worse." The tears that pooled in your eyes couldn't be helped. It could get so much worse. Lives were at stake and you had no idea how to prevent it. Small tremors vibrated through you as you tried to contain the urge to bawl, but you couldn't hide from Dean.

He eased himself from under you, laying on his side and cradling your face in his warm, capable hands. "Hey, it's gonna be okay. We'll fix this." His eyes were a vivid green, bright with the belief in the words that were coming out of his mouth. "I swear, Y/N. You're gonna walk away from this and have your whole life ahead of you. You got me?" His work calloused fingers slid across your wet cheeks in such a tender move that it made your breath momentarily still in your chest.

But his words didn't bring the comfort you craved. Suddenly, it wasn't just your life alone that you wanted to walk away from all of this. You wanted Dean Winchester right there next to you when this was all over and the revelation was startling. This was the same Dean that had acted like if you had dropped dead on the first few 'dates' it would have made his life a whole lot easier. The same one who was a complete dick and made you pay for entire meals. He didn't seem like the same person anymore. "You too?" You couldn't help the way your bottom lip quivered and this seemed to do him in.

"Of course." You noted that his own survival seemed like an after thought, but you took the comfort from the words that he meant for you. He pulled you back tightly against him, your nose buried in the hollow of his throat, his hand a comforting weight against your head and you melted. He smelled of leather and something bright like Irish Spring and pine trees and whatever combination of his fabric detergent and skin oils combined to be distinctly Dean. 

Instead of over thinking what a freakin mess this man made of you, you let your lips trail a couple of kisses across his Adam's apple. You were rewarded with a low groan of approval, his grip on the back of your head tightening, so you continued your exploration. You pushed your hands beneath the loose, gray t shirt he'd worn to bed. His skin was hot to the touch and the tiny hairs tickled your hand as you palmed his tight ab muscles. Not quite a six pack, but there was no flab there either.

He let you nibble your way down his neck and across his collar bone before he pulled your face to his and kissed you with the same fervency as that first kiss. It was filled with desperation and need and every fiber of your being wanted to supply what he was asking for. His hand trailed down your back to the top swell of your ass and he squeezed, pulling you into his hardening dick.

He breathed out a startled huff of air right into your mouth like the contact was an electric shock and you swallowed it eagerly, griping his back and pulling yourself even closer. You wanted as much of his heat as you could manage and he was just as desperate as you.

His hands found their way beneath his worn Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon t shirt, his fingers tickling the sensitive skin beneath your breasts. You were filled with the sudden urge to grab his hands and put them where you wanted them, but somehow you didn't really have it in you after everything. You were too preoccupied with the overwhelming thought that you wanted Dean to stay. That you were suddenly not playing anymore.

"Dean." You gasped as he teased, allowing his hands to explore the soft, warm skin of your stomach and then tease the delicate skin around your aureolas. "Are you still-"

"God, I love you in my clothes." He cut you off, kissing you hard and you could practically hear the cheesy line he didn't say, 'But I love you so much more naked.' He made quick work of the shirt that swallowed your figure whole and the shorts that you'd had to roll the waist several times so that they wouldn't slide off, leaving you in the silky purple boy shorts you'd started the night in. "Fuck, those are so hot." He was practically growling against the delicate skin beneath your jaw as he palmed the warm, slippery material across the lower curve of your ass, pulling you on top of him as he rolled to his back.

God, you immediately felt how freaking hard he was against the crease of your thigh, his length trapped beneath the boxers he was still wearing. Once again, instinct had you wanting to reach down and rip the offending clothes off of him and take control, but you held back. You savored the way he writhed and bucked against you, vocalizing his protest in the form of grunts and frustrated groans. The boy shorts were the final piece of clothing to go and he nearly ripped them off.

Soon, he got with the program and with an amazing display of yogaesque moves, he was naked beneath you without making you move away. His lips barely left yours, seeming to be just as much in need of that connection as you were. The warmth of skin against skin soothed the still terrified part of you, the kisses slowing down from desperate to worship.

A condom was procured from somewhere and you grinned inwardly that Dean didn't endanger his dick like he did the first time he tried to have sex with you without one. He rolled you onto your back and you let your legs widen enough to welcome his warm weight between them. His length was scalding against your lower stomach, tormenting you and spreading precome as he thrust against you. But you refused to beg. You let him work himself into submission.

He got to his knees, his angry, red cock in his hand. He arched an eyebrow in question, a hand on your hip to steady himself. You wanted to go with what he was offering, wanted to feel him sink into you with all that he was worth. However, now that you'd thought it you couldn't stop. "What are we doing?"

A smarmy smirk spread across his face, "What does it look like we're doin', Sweetheart?"

Ugh, dick. "No, I mean... Are we still just pretending?" You felt like you were spread wide open for him in more ways than one. More vulnerable than you ever intended to be, but it just wouldn't stop. "Because, I don't want to anymore."

You saw the moment your question made sense and the walls slammed up so fast it made you dizzy. "You don't want to play house anymore, darlin'? You wanna go rent out a church? Or maybe we could swing by Vegas. God, I love Vegas."

Already you were grabbing the clothes closest to you to pull on, sensing that this wasn't going to go well at all. Fuck, you and your mouth. What a time to grow a conscience? You wanted to beg him not to make this weird, but the words just wouldn't come out. You were mortified and extremely hurt by his reaction. You pulled the t shirt over your head, "I'm sorry, I forgot you sleep with everything you touch! Why would I think I'm any different?"

He had the audacity to look deeply hurt, the smirk sliding quickly of his face. His frown dimples popped up on either side of his down turned mouth. The sick feeling that had settled in your stomach was like you'd just kicked an unsuspecting kitten. Fuck. His eyes narrowed as he pointed at you. "You don't know a damn thing about me." He nearly face planted as he got off the bed and struggled to pull up his boxer briefs. "You know how many people I've actually slept with?"

You had a fair idea. You'd seen the pictures on Google, heard most of the rumors first hand (the man had slept with most of the women that were represented by your same talent agency) and you were positive he'd slept with the majority of them. Plus, Dean Winchester had done nothing to amend these assumptions. Stupidly you shook your head, knowing there was a right way to react to that question but for some reason your brain had stopped working.

"Including high school, I've only had sex with eight people, Y/N. Eight." He pulled his t shirt back over his head, the neck getting stuck and taking a rough tug to pull it on completely. "But thanks, you know, I almost forgot what it was like to be blindsided. You of all people should understand that." He was quick to leave the room, slamming the door behind him. And unbidden, the thoughts that he'd just acted like a Class A drama queen, popped into your head. Damnit.

However, it hadn't even taken a second to realize how much in the wrong that you were. You had fallen into an age old assumption. What was that phrase? 'Assume makes an ass of you and me?' Well fuck.

"Dean, wait!" You managed to trip into your borrowed pair of shorts and fling open the door. "Dean?" You checked each room, the one level house was easy to search and found no sign of him. He couldn't have gone far in his boxer briefs and t shirt, but you weren't about to wake Sam up to ask him. Then you would have to explain what a freaking ass you'd been. Feeling alone and like a complete fuckwit, you wrapped up in a blanket and curled up on the couch to wait in the dark. You and your big damn mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one is a little longer. Thank you so much for all the feedback on this story. I appreciate every single word!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N can't quite stop screwing things up. What? Its not like she's doing it on purpose, okay?

You sat in the quiet, dark den, wrapped in what they had that passed as a throw, waiting for Dean to show. In the dark it looked like some cartoon character, but you didn't recognize it. You listened to the old, creaky boards of the house settling. The sound of the fairly new looking refrigerator humming the in the background. Then, you picked up the faint trill of a radio off in the distance. It was coming from the one door you hadn't peaked into because it looked like it might be a storage closet. But, now that you'd heard the sharp noise of heavy metal contacting concrete, you knew better.

You slid off of the couch, your bare feet chilled by the hard wood floor, and made a calculated approach to the mystery door. The door was old, the brass handle squeaked a little as you pulled it open to a garage filled with tons of things that your brain could hardly catalog right away. Your attention was drawn to the light hanging from the open hood of the Impala, and the semi naked bowed legs that were sticking out from underneath mid car. You were momentarily entranced by the thick muscles of his thighs. Mmm...

Focus.

"Dean?" Well, duh. Who else could belong to those delicious bowed legs in the house? Dumbass.

There was a loud blunt noise, skin against an unmoving metal object. "Son of a bitch." Dean's voice was harsh as he cussed, having just rammed his head into the undercarriage of his car. Slowly, the bare feet guided the dolly he was laying on to slide out from under the car. His movements were abortive and slow as he sat up, one black flecked hand holding his forehead as he squinted at you. "Yeah?"

You tried to remember that you were seriously in the dog house and further incrimination would happen if you full body laughed like you really wanted to. "Are you okay?" You found yourself in his space, even though he was giving off back the fuck up vibes. When he moved his hand away from his face, you could see the black mark surrounded by a very angry red on his forehead. He levered himself up from the ground. 

He continued to squint at you like you were indeed the enemy, and you couldn't quite bring yourself to disagree with him. So, you decided to go ahead and bite the bullet.

"I'm so sorry I was such an asshole. I was judgemental and a jackass. I had no right whatsoever..."

"Are you gonna keep going or..?" There was a smirk on his face, then he sighed, his posture sagging as he used an already dirty rag to wipe his hands. "No, look. I wasn't exactly great either." He huffed when he realized the rag was doing nothing to clean the stubborn grease from his fingers. "I kind of stomped off like a preteen. Its just," he leaned against the glossy enamel paint of his car, his arms crossed. He gave you a calculating look that twisted your insides. "I don't know what I want and you caught me off guard. And, that's the truth. I'm sorry if that's not what you want to hear."

Maybe it was the naked honesty in his green eyes, or the look of his weighted down shoulders. For whatever reason, you decided that you'd give him a pass. "It's fine." You reached up, noting that he didn't flinch away, and danced your finger tips around the splotchy red and black mark on his forehead. "I tend to go all balls out and that's not always everyone's speed."

He scoffed a laugh at your pun, "All balls out isn't always bad. We could always start over. End the night with a bang. Or an orgasm. You pick." He'd automatically shifted into flirty rather than conflicted in the blink of an eye and you had to wonder how the hell he managed all of his personality quirks so seamlessly. However, it didn't really matter at this point because you'd come to the realization that you found him attractive even when he was being a smarmy jackass. You were beginning to realize that beneath all of the... slimy outer limits of his personality that he wore like armor, was a gooey center.

"Uh, no. Kinda killed the mood, but I'll help you get the grease off of your face." He seemed just as satisfied with this answer and lead you out of the dimly lit garage back into the kitchen. "What were you doing under your car at three o'clock in the morning?"

"Never know when you need to grease those heads. Sometimes, you know the track arm? It's just a shaft with ball bearings on either side. But it's a shaft and it needs to be greased too. Get it? Greasin' the shaft?" He was absolutely beatific until you answered, his face falling comically into an overly serious pout. And how were you supposed to take him seriously?

"How hard did you hit your head?"

He lead the way to the bathroom adjacent to his room and hoisted himself onto the counter with the grace of a cat. It was disgusting. Seriously, if you'd tried that you would've slid off the other side and busted your face on the toilet. Damn perfect Winchester.

The tone was quiet and serious as he allowed you to use warm water and a little gojo soap on a face cloth to slowly remove the oil from the goose egg on his forehead. You were so engrossed by your task that when he spoke up it startled you.

"You have really pretty eyes." His tone was somber, his eyes seeming to trace the details of your face and you suddenly felt like you were under a microscope.

So, what do you do? "Nice line. It's not necessary. You already got in my pants." Yep. Sarcasm. A special self effacing one that popped up when you felt ridiculed and you wanted the last word.

He dipped his head away, the face cloth making an interesting journey into his hair. Hey, if he got oil in his hair, that was totally not your fault. Besides, he couldn't be so damn perfect all the time. "I'm serious." When you paid more attention to the rest of his face, you noticed the blush that was now tinting his cheeks and putting his light dusting of freckles on display. "They're kind of a swirl of colors with gold flecks. I can't really decide what color they actually are." And cue open, honest face.

"Stop it." You were nearly done, only a few specs were left and it was getting a little hard to tell where they ended and the bruising blue of his skin began.

"Stop what." It was an early hour in the morning, and his voice was just barely a rumble in his chest. His breath was warm on your face, his lips were so close... But he didn't know what he wanted. There was no sense muddying it up by jumping his bones in his own bathroom. Especially with that cracked wide open quality to his expression. Like if you stared into his eyes long enough you'd finally be able to see what lay at the very core of him. You couldn't afford to attach yourself further to someone who was probably going to drop you the minute things went back to normal.

It was a rush of relief and disappointment to be able to step back and drop the dirty face cloth into the sink. "All done. You should probably ice that."  
___________

"You left him a note?" The sound of Sam's disgruntled voice broke through the phone as you walked into your royally trashed apartment. You'd just finished up at the police department half an hour previously so your patience was already pretty thin. You'd been introduced to detectives Rufus Turner and Bobby Singer. Two grumpy, seasoned men who bantered back and forth like an old married couple and hadn't had any news about the investigation. They'd asked you a ton of invasive questions.

In desperation, you'd told them about the Winchester's theory and what had happened previously on the walk from lunch. They'd watched you through squinted eyes in silence for a very uncomfortable five minutes. Then, you'd been dismissed.

"Uh, yeah. You guys were sleeping pretty hard. Like, open mouth snoring, hard." You'd passed Dean sprawled out on his back on the couch, a hand hanging down to touch the floor. His mouth had been hanging open, emitting rather loud snores. His hair looked like it'd been pulled at all night, laying in erratic, soft tufts against the pillow. It was sickening how you'd found it fucking adorable. And Sam, well, you hadn't even made to his bedroom door before you heard the snores emitted from that room. Ha! 

On your next step the broken glass of the picture frame you had of your family in the foyer crunched beneath your feet. That was enough to bring you back to the present. That, and Sam's impatient voice on the other end of the phone.

"And you couldn't wait for someone to wake up?"

You didn't know Sam very well, but you were very enamored by his snark. "There was no point. It's not like we were going to pal around like a Friend's episode. I had to get back." You explored the completely obliterated expanse of your kitchen. They'd actually pulled out the china you'd brought from your parents house. It laid ruined, fine bone china scattered across the slate tiles you'd hand picked when you renovated this place. The frown on your face was evident in the tone of your voice. "Look. I really appreciate what you guys did last night. But, I'm a big girl. Practically an adult! I can manage on my own for a morning."

Sam gave a sigh that was filled with the utmost saltiness, "You really wanna go there, Y/N? I think that you have enough evidence to support what we've been trying to tell you. How can you think that for one minute you're safe on your own?"

Point, but... "It could be that I know for a fact that you're having that Clif guy follow me around. I'm not completely clueless or stupid. Give me some credit, Sam. Plus, I was kind of a dick to Dean and I figured he'd want some space. He can have a break from playing house. Especially since there's no press around."

You weren't sure how to classify the noise he made next, but he seemed frustrated. "He made you breakfast. I don't think space was what he was looking for."

Well, fuck. That information gave you an uncomfortable squeeze to your chest.

"He freaked out until he found the note you'd taped to the toilet. Nice touch, by the way. He thought someone had come in and kidnapped you." Well, in your defense, you thought that was the first place most people went when they woke up!

You supposed, now that you thought of it, that was a highly feasible issue. Your eye balls rolled with absolute disdain for the situation you found yourself in. Literally, you were standing in the middle of your completely trashed apartment and were pretty sure you'd found your way onto someone's hit list. Or shit list. Whatever. All you wanted to do was make a living and be marginally happy. Was that just too much to ask? "Sorry." You mumbled out, sitting on the edge of your bed while you looked over the damage.

You couldn't make yourself go into the bathroom yet. What if they'd done something to your claw foot tub? Then it was on, bitches!

"Y/N. I know it's not ideal, but I really think we should all be sticking together until we get this all figured out, you know?" He sounded like a child trying to keep his family together and didn't that just punch you in the gut? "I don't have a class until two, do you want me to come by and help?"

Yes. "No. I'll catch up with you guys later, okay?" You could tell he was reluctant, and you had to wonder what made the Winchesters the way they were. As much as Dean acted like he didn't give two fucks about you and treated you like a complete piece of trash when you went out on dates, he was still trying to keep you from dying.

When Sam disconnected you sat completely still for a long time, frozen in the destruction of your apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out. I wrote a few versions of this then tossed them out. Ugh! Hopefully you guys are still reading and enjoying this! I'd love to hear what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N has a meeting that turns out to be very informative on the Winchester front. What will she do with the information?

You spent the entire day cleaning up the mess those jackasses had made. Luckily, your bath tub was still standing and you thanked who ever was listening for small favors. Despite the destruction to your apartment, your day was progressing along nicely. You turned up your iPod dock and blasted Katy Perry until you were dancing around the swept up piles of glass and singing at the top of your lungs. You were in the middle of a moving rendition of 'The One that got Away' when your phone chirped.

Now you found yourself in the CW headquarters, meeting your manager in the lobby. Apparently it was time for another come to Jesus get together.

"Y/N! Honey, we were all so worried about you." Brenda, a tall blonde that probably was quite a looker in her prime, wrapped you in a tight hug. You had never been a hugely touchy feely person, but Brenda was probably the only person aside from a couple of set aides that bothered to make an effort. She was kind of a stand in for your mother, and being out here on your own made you appreciative. She pulled back and studied you from head to toe. "Honey, you look terrible. Are you sleeping?"

Wow. Thanks lady. It's not like you had anything going on or anything. "No, I'm not sleeping well." Understatement. That's why you'd been able to slip out so quickly this morning. You hadn't slept a wink in Dean's bed. It had been especially cold and lonely.

"Have you made an appointment with Dr. Folk? You can't go on like this, honey. You're under so much stress." Dr. Folk is who all the CW personnel was expected to attend if they wanted a quick fix. Got trouble sleeping? Go to Dr. Folk. Unwanted pregnancy? Go to Dr. Folk. In need of a few narcotics to get you through a rough weekend? You guessed it. Go to Dr. Folk.

You'd never considered yourself very much of a mess, but the more Brenda opened her mouth, the more you felt like maybe you really did need to make that appointment. Everything just kept piling up and you had to wonder when it all would avalanche. You didn't fit into this world. You were like a square peg trying to fit into a round hole and it was finally starting to get to you. The animal that kept trying to claw through you chest was ever present now that you were constantly looking over your shoulder.

"I see you've been getting closer to those Winchester boys." She made it sound like it was a bad thing as she guided you to the bank of elevators. "The press that caught you guys last night was gold! It's like you're really sleeping together."

Uhmmm... "Well..." You stepped into the first elevator going up and Brenda shuffled in next to you in her brand new Gucci heels.

"Y/F/N! Don't you dare get involved with that man. He is nothing but trouble, you hear me? Rumors are one thing, you don't want to actually destroy your... career with the real thing." The hesitation was barely there, but you caught it and you had to wonder just what the hell Brenda knew. It was hard to take her seriously as she pointed one of her perfectly manicured fingers in your face. "I'm serious. Do not get involved. Use the press, do what the CW wants you to do, but do not get involved with him. Promise me you won't." You were taken aback by the appearance of the tears in her watery blue eyes. Yep. She knew something.

Goosebumps popped up all over your arms. "Brenda, what's going on?" 

"Nothing. Nothing, I just worry about you." She was acting strange. A weird combination between nervous and upset and it only served to unnerve you more. "Just keep your head down and do what they tell you, do you understand?"

Brenda might have thought she was consoling you but it was in fact having the exact opposite effect. "What's wrong with Dean Winchester?" The doors opened to expose yet another opulent lobby and extravagantly polished hallways. Was this really your life? 

You walked up to a desk positioned at the center of the lobby and the man behind it lifted a perfectly groomed eyebrow in your direction before he spoke. "He's ready for you." The open judgement on the man's face was unnerving, something that you hadn't gotten used to yet. It was rampant in this industry. Everyone judged everybody. Life was just a contest and most people in the industry didn't care who they stepped all over to get to the top.

"Brenda?" You tried one more time before she put a hand on your back and guided you through a heavy oak door into the office of Mark Pedowitz. What exactly had you done to deserve a meeting with the CW President? And would someone turn the heat on? It was fucking freezing in this man's office and you had on a one shoulder shirt!

"Ms. Y/L/N! I'm so glad you could join me today on such short notice!" He had a huge smile on his face and you'd liken it to a Cheshire Cat/Shark hybrid. You got a front row seat view of it when he came over to kiss your cheek. "Please, please. Have a seat."

You were more than happy to have a seat and put a desk between you and someone you were getting serious creep vibes from. "Mr. Pedowitz, this is such a surprise." You plastered on a smile of your own that you hoped was convincing.

"Oh please, call me Mark. We're all family here." He sat down and shuffled a few papers around, "Brenda, dear, didn't you tell Ms. Y/N that she had a meeting with me today?"

Brenda, who had just taken a seat next to you, fluttered her hands in her lap nervously. "Um, no. It was just so last minute." Was the great former Miss Idaho sweating?

"No worries. No worries. You're here now, that's what matters." He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. If he was trying to make the situation more relaxed, he was failing. Your fingers were digging into the thickly upholstered chair you were sitting in. If you listened to that first instinct anecdote that most self defense teachers instructed, you would've been down the hall and stumbling down the stairs to get the fuck out of here right the fuck now! "I heard about the break in at your home. I'm very sorry that happened to you. No one should be violated like that. To have some stranger come in and destroy what's yours."

"Thank you." You answered uncertainly. How did you respond to something like that?

"However, you've been having a rough go of it recently. Before this even happened, haven't you? Anxiety? Trouble sleeping? Maybe even a little depression?"

His words made you bristle, "Things have been a little stressful, but I wouldn't call myself depressed-"

"Your mother had a major depressive disorder, didn't she? Nasty business that can be passed down to children." His voice sounded just as slimy as the smirk on his face. "We're just so concerned about you."

This was not going well and your barely contained temper was simmering just beneath the surface. "There's no need to be concerned."

"Still, I'd really feel better if you were to at least consult with Dr. Folk about this. I'd hate for something to happen to you. Or that sweet older sister of yours in New York. It would suck for lil sis's problems to become big sis's problems when she's already got so much on her plate ." He leaned forward, his steel gray eyes focused on you like laser beams. "Do you get what I'm saying?"

Since when was the president of the fucking CW a damn mob boss? He was threatening you! "Clearly, I just don't-"

"Ms. Y/L/N," he cut you off again, "You're a smart girl. I've always admired the fact that you were different than the money hungry starlets that we see come through this company. You're like a street smart hooker in a land of zombie beauty queens. Its touching, really, how you don't fit in. How you've completely perfected your 'home grown' look and attitude."

What the absolute fuck? A fucking hooker?

"This could all have a quick and brutal end if you don't play by the rules. Can you play by the rules, Ms. Y/L/N?"

You looked from the completely villanous man over to Brenda and back. Was he serious? Brenda looked like she was about to blow her $100 manicure by chewing her nails to the quick. Mark was looking at you like he actually expected an answer from you. Once again, how were you supposed to answer that? What were you even talking about any more? Unable to find the words, you slowly shook your head to the affirmative.

"Good. There are individuals in our industry that never learned how to play by the rules. The Winchesters, for example. Dearest Daddy's in his latest rehab stint. Oh, and mommy Winchester. Well, she's six foot under! My, how does a family get so shattered after appearing to be such a tight knit little group?" Were your eyes bugging out of your head? Was this actually happening? "Turns out a little mental illness is all it takes. Plus, none of it would have happened if she hadn't been such a little whore."

She wasn't even your mother and you felt insulted for them. What in the hell was he talking about and how soon could this meeting end so you could throw up the bagel and cream cheese you'd crammed down before hand?

"She was supposed to love me, you know. Not that god damned Winchester man who could hardly operate a camera much less direct! He was just a third assistant cameraman when they met, has Dean told you?"

You felt the rocks roll around in your brain as you shook your head no.

"Yeah, I saw her first. I could tell she had potential. She was only twenty when we met. She auditioned for her first tv show and I was on that committee. She locked her blue eyes on me and I just knew... She was like you in a lot of ways. Bright eyed and ready to take on the world. She expected the best out of this world and I was determined to give it to her." He was wistful now and it made your stomach roll, "We met for a few meals over the years, always making a point to keep in touch. But, it was never the right time for us. So, I gave her a choice, Ms. Y/L/N. She chose to down a bottle full of sleeping pills than to see any harm done to her little Sammy in the room next door. He doesn't remember any of it, obviously. I told her I'd give up everything if she would just be with me. I'd already chartered the plane to the Bahamas, but she was already so brain washed by that Winchester man she chose death instead."

You really were going to be sick. Surely you had no chance of getting out of this alive after he divulged all of this information. Well, at least you had all of your affairs taken care of. Your sister would get all of your belongings. The ones that hadn't been destroyed by this dick bag in front of you anyway.

"But you can make the right choice and that right choice is to stay out of the way. I've got enough on you to not only bury you as far as the media is concerned, but I could also make you disappear. Do we have an understanding? Stay clear of Dean Winchester and his plans of clearing his mother's name and you won't get caught in the cross fire like you did last night."

Caught in the cross fire? Wait, does that mean...

"Yes. That niggling in your brain that's telling you that something wasn't right with Dean Winchester? It's true. He's been using you as a shield. He didn't think we'd go as far as to hurt you. But you aren't who I'm after, so I'm giving you a warning. Daddy's reputation is ruined beyond repair and the only way to dig the knife in further is to take away his sons. It's only fair, don't you agree? He took something of mine, it's only fair I get something in return."

Murder. He wanted you to keep your mouth shut about murder.

"You'll play your part. Family is important, you know. Isn't that little nephew of yours a doll? Rides the bus to and from his little school in Horse Head. He's learning about how George Washington cut down the cherry tree and all that. I have a picture, if you want to see it." He fiddled through the papers on his desk once more, producing a glossy 6x8 photo of your nephew getting onto a yellow school bus in the snow. "Go out on those dates. Be seen with him. And when those Winchester boys are dead you corroborate my story and you'll be home free. Not a scratch on you or your family."

You made it out of his office on wobbly legs and as far as the receptionist's desk before you emptied the contents of your stomach into the man's waste basket. He wasn't any less judgy but you could give a fuck less. Brenda handed you a tissue then guided you both to the bank of elevators again before she spoke up. "Just keep your head down and do what he said."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N makes a split decision about how to handle Mark Pedowitz's threats. Y/N finds out why Dean and Sam continued to live in a home that seemed below their station in life.

In complete panic mode, shaking so hard that your teeth chattered in your mouth, you made it to the parking lot of CW headquarters and sent off a text message that requested a meet up. It was simple and ominous, but you hoped that both Sam and Dean didn't question it. You didn't even tell Brenda goodbye before you hailed the first cab and headed towards the Winchester residence. You needed to see them both. Alive.

There was a bitter chill to the wind and you wondered if it would snow soon. The weather had been a little chilly, but mostly mild lately. It was possible that it was just your skin that had the biting cold beneath the surface. It didn't matter how high the heat was turned up in the cab.

You didn't know when Pedowitz would strike or if he was having your phone spied on. If you at least got one moment to be able to warn them, it would be enough. There was no way that you'd be able to keep this to yourself, unable to fathom anything happening to the Winchester brothers. Even if Dean had used you as a shield, he had to have had a good reason. They'd somehow wiggled themselves into your heart without very much effort on their part.

When the cabbie turned into the older neighborhood that the Winchester's resided in, your heart dropped to your stomach. A thick billow of smoke could be seen coming from a couple of blocks over and you immediately knew that Mark Pedowitz had already done something monumental.

You dug a few bills from your bag before you jumped out a couple of houses early, unable to stand still any longer as the bright red and orange flames licked over their house. You could hear the sirens in the distance, but that was a small consolation as you saw that the Impala was in the driveway. There was no sign of Dean on either side of the house.

"Dean?!" You didn't stop to think before you crossed through the back door threshold. Maybe you'd stop later to think about the fact that it'd already been kicked in. The smoke was already thick on the right side of the house. Without direction, you pulled your shirt over your nose and mouth and began searching the rooms. "Sam?!"

Sam's room, closest to the right side of the house was already covered in bright red flames. Before you had a chance to worry that Sam was somehow in his room your phone rang. "Sam?"

"Hey! I'm on my way back from the library so I'll be a few minutes. Do you guys want-"

"Sam, I can't find Dean." You knew you sounded breathless and panicked but you were freaking the fuck out. So, you weren't exactly level headed when the shit hit the fan? Surprise! But you couldn't find Dean and the smoke was starting to get too thick to breathe. "The fucking house is on fire! I've looked in all the rooms and I-"

"The basement. Did you check the basement?" Sam was now on your level of panic. You heard the sirens getting closer, barely audible over the crackle and roar of the fire. It was starting to sting your eyes.

Basement? You coughed, the smoke filtering through the fabric of the shirt that was covering your nose and mouth. You'd opened every damn door in this house. There was no basement. God, the smoke was sticking in your mouth, clogging up your throat. It was getting hard to see as your eyes were starting to water. You could feel the heat radiating through the living room wall.

"It's a door on the floor with a rope as a handle. It's only a few feet from my room. It used be be used for a root cellar." Sam sounded out of breathe, but you couldn't focus on that too hard because the flames were now licking through his bedroom door when you spotted what he was talking about. The heat was close enough to cause sweat to pool in the small of your back and slide down your face. The fire was so close that you actually felt like you were getting a bad sunburn. But, you didn't waste any time before you pulled the door and stumbled down the stairs in the dark.

"Dean?!" Your voice was run through and shot. Luckily the stairs had a railing or you would've fallen down the rickety wooden things. However, when you hit the last step your breath stilled in your chest. There was Dean among the haze of the smoke, a trail of blood slipping down his face along with the sweat into the collar of his shirt which was ripped and scuffed in places. At his wrists and ankles, he was tied to a chair. "Dean!" You dropped the phone to cradle his face. The smoke and heat was doing a number on your eyes, making it too easy for tears to slip down your cheeks. "Who did this?" You were already pulling at the ropes, but someone had tied them into a tough knot.

"Knife. Back pocket." His words were slurred and his head lolled without your hands to support it. His chin rested on his chest as he passively observed you in a daze while you searched.

You jumped into action, patting both of his pockets until you found the right one. You expected some snippy words of righteous indignation, but there were none. He allowed you to cut through the rope without one response. He didn't even say anything when part of the top floor collapsed down into the basement only ten feet away from you. Fuck.

"Hello?! Anybody down here!?" You'd never been so damn happy to see a fireman in your life.  
__________  
You were sitting side by side in the back of an ambulance when Sam drove up. He was in his brother's face immediately, turning it left to right to better see the laceration at the beginning of his hair line. Dean bristled but Sam seemed undeterred, making Dean roll his eyes but sit still for the inspection.

Dean had been unable to tell them anything so far because every time he took a deep breath he coughed. The EMT's had helpfully checked both of you out for injuries and placed oxygen therapy over your faces. That had done little to ease the tightness in your chest. Every little noise made you flinch, but Dean didn't notice because he was too busy watching his home go down in flames.

Detectives Rufus Turner and Bobby Singer had shown up minutes after the fire trucks had and they were milling about interviewing the few neighbors that had come outside to gawk. They had yet to come in your direction, but you were ready to give them a damn ear full.

A few press trucks had arrived, too. Of course they had, but they kept their distance. You had to restrain yourself. The compulsion was right there to flip them off for being a bunch of story hungry assholes. However, you had to talk yourself down. They too had a job to do.

"What happened?" Sam asked, finally letting go of his brother's face and turning his attention to you.

You pulled the mask off and began to talk in a gravelly, rough tone. It felt like there were glass shards lodged in your throat. "He was tied up in the basement. Pedowitz must have arranged it while he was meeting with me." This caught Dean's attention.

"Pedowitz?" Sam's face furrowed in thought and he shared a knowing look with Dean.

In careful tones you told them the cliff notes of your meeting that afternoon and by the time you'd finished Dean's eyes were bugging with the need to talk. He coughed violently every few sentences in what you assumed were attempts to contribute to the conversation. Sam, however, became more and more pale the longer you spoke. It looked like this whole conspiracy theory had just gotten a lot more complicated than he had thought it was. You left out the fact that Pedowitz had given Mary a choice of herself or Sam. You didn't think that information would really help anyone right now.

The blond EMT guy came over and started to attend to Dean's gash as the detectives finally crossed the yard to approach you. It didn't need stitches, but the EMT began cleaning the blood away so he could apply a few butterfly bandages.

"You guys just can't stay out of trouble, huh?" Detective Turner turned a derisive glance on all three of you while Detective Singer remained silent. "You wanna tell me why that is?"

"Why don't you ask Mark Pedowitz?" You ground out, looking at both of them in defiance. There was no use in trying to hold back. "He's the one behind this. In fact, he threatened all of us in his office not one hour ago."

"So, he was in the office with you when this fire started?" Turner questioned and it was clear to you by his body language that nothing good was going to come out of this conversation. Was it possible the Pedowitz had connections in law enforcement as well?

"Technically, but your missing the part where he threatened my family's lives. He told me that he planned to kill both Sam and Dean Winchester and he wanted me to comply. To even vouch for his stupid story." Sam squeezed in to take a seat beside you, eyeing the detectives with a healthy dose of disdain.

"Was that the same Mark Pedowitz that called the station last night to make sure we had eyes on your apartment because he was concerned for your safety? The same Mark Pedowitz that is a pillar for this community and is widely known for his philanthropy?" Now Detective Singer was chimming in with his gruff tone and you felt whatever hope you had sinking into oblivion. You were not only endangering your life but the life of your sister who was completely clueless in Horse Heads, NY! Your only consolation was that her husband was a NYPD cop and he knew his stuff.

"That would be the same man who showed me a picture of my own nephew. Don't you think it's strange that Dean was tied up in the basement? That his home was broken into and set on fire?" Dean managed to put a comforting hand on your shoulder and it went a long way to ground you to the moment. "You have to believe me, please? I know you think I'm crazy, but we're in danger."

While your words seemed to soften Detective Singer's stance, Turner didn't look like he was a believer. "You know what I think?" He began conversationally, "I think that you're all a bunch of attention seeking, spoiled Hollywood brats here to stir up trouble. I think your families enabled you into this self serving, 'me centered' place where the world revolves around you. And I'm here to tell you, that's not how this is gonna work out. Do you hear me?"

Perhaps sensing that you were about to start yelling, Sam answered for you. "We hear you."

"I'll tell you what's going to happen now. All three of you are gonna come down to the station as soon as the EMT releases you and you're going to tell me what the hell is really going on!" Detective Singer's frown deepened and he dragged Turner over to the closest squad car to exchange a few words, leaving the three of you to sit and wait.

Sam was quiet for a while and all three of you got lost in staring at the vivid flames that the fire trucks were struggling to contain. The entire house would be destroyed before they could get it under control. The only thing to be grateful about was the fact that Dean Winchester was no longer in the basement, that he was sitting right next to you. His hand had yet to leave your shoulder and you wanted it to stay there. Any contact with him was an improvement.

"It was our Mom's childhood home, did you know that?" Sam began in a wistful tone, his liquid eyes still glued on the house. "Now, she's really gone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh! I'm so freakin nervous! I hope this is good for you guys! Let me know what you think about Y/N's choices and maybe how you think they'll get out of this!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Sam and Y/N take refuge. We also find out something about Dean that nobody knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. This chapter actually has another version, but I decided I liked this one better. I tried something a little different and part of this chapter is now in Dean's point of view. Be warned, there is mention of death that happened in the past. Basically a short blurb as to what Dean saw when his mother died.

Collide Part 10

You'd been at the station for a few hours now, stuffed into a tiny white room with only a table, a few chairs and a double sided window. The air was chilly here too, and you had to wonder if it was because the station had yet to figure out what central heat meant or if the fire had somehow managed to singe your skin. Detective Singer, who you would now refer to as the 'good cop' had brought in a few packets of crackers and some coffee. No one seemed to have an appetite, but the coffee was gone within the first hour. It was in that first hour that you'd managed to send a text message to your sister about the threats just to give her a quick heads up. There was a long phone conversation in store for you later.

Sam had spent most of the time messing around on his phone. You were unsure if he was doing something productive or if he was playing angry birds. His expression gave nothing away. Dean, who was sitting to your left had conked out with his head on the table thirty minutes after being shut in this despicable room. You envied his ability to fall asleep considering the circumstances. You'd love to just check out too. However, you had to give the guy some credit. He had just been assaulted, tied up in a chair and left to die not too long ago.

Before he'd fallen asleep he'd been too quiet. He'd sipped on his coffee like he was swallowing hot coals. You supposed it probably felt that way. Damn this detective with a stick up his ass for keeping you here this long. Dean deserved to be wrapped up in bed and comfortable damnit. Not that it would be his bed anymore because it was now smoldering in the pile of ash that was his former home. Shit.

You, on the other hand, had spent the entire time thinking about what Mark Pedowitz had said. Had he known you would go directly to the Winchester's house? Or did he count on you having a shred of self preservation? Did he really think that your reputation was so important to you that you would sacrifice someone else's life just to maintain it?

What if you had decided to go home to call your sister first? Would the firemen have been able to find that stupid, obscure basement door before the place had collapsed? Dean Winchester would be ashes right now and you'd never have the opportunity to talk to him again. You wouldn't be able to tell him how sorry you were that you'd skipped out. That you hadn't expected in your wildest dreams that he would make breakfast. That you honestly thought you were doing the easy thing for both of them?

"You're thinking too hard." Sam never even looked up from his phone, but the disturbance of silence made you jump a little. "If you go through all of the 'what ifs' you'll go crazy." How was Sam so calm now? How was he not completely filled with rage like you at the prospect of sitting in this damn room for one minute longer?

"Well, there's not much else to do around here." You snipped, but shot Sam a half smile in apology immediately. It wasn't his fault that you were stuck here. It was Detective Turner's fault and you intended to give him a piece of your mind the minute the jackass entered the room. You were really done with his holier than thou attitude and you had to wonder who was responsible for wedging that damn red wood so far up his ass. 

You shot a side glance at Dean, who snored quietly, completely oblivious to your turmoil. He was once again bruised, but not broken and for that you were thankful. You couldn't stand to see him hurt anymore. It was like it would physically effect you if he were made to endure more pain. You had to sit on your hands to overcome the urge to run your finger's through his smoke infused hair. Maybe you could use your fingers to rub out the tension you could actually see in his neck. Or that wide expanse of freckly muscled skin that was also known as his back. Such a simple name for what was hands down one of your favorite parts of his body. One of them.

"We'll be out of here shortly." It surprised you that Sam, who had nearly decked the beat cop that had forced you into the back seat of the cop car, was being so nonchalant.

"How? They haven't even interviewed us yet?" You crossed your arms and rocked back in the chair. It leaned a little too far and nearly toppled over, making Dean snort to wakefulness and glare in your direction. Oops. "Sorry."

It was like Sam was psychic because as soon as the words were out of your mouth the door opened and in walked an overly cheerful red head with a handful of folders. She was dressed in a very serious gray pant suit that you could tell didn't match her personality at all.

"Boys." She greeted them each with a hug and a smile after she placed a thick folder onto the table. "So not good to see you in these circumstances."

"Y/N, this is Charlie. She's a couple of years ahead of me in law school and she's gonna get us out of here." He was so confident that you had to stifle a laugh when his face fell a little, "Right?"

She pulled you into a tight hug, "Y/N! So glad to meet you. I've heard great things! And of course, Sam. When have I ever let you down, sir?" She punched his arm playfully before lifting the folder back into her grasp. "The charges of suspected arson are bogus. They have nothing to hold over you. However, they could slap you with defamation charges if we can't get something to stick for the Mark Pedowitz thing."

Dean went from catatonic to fuming in two point five seconds. His voice was hoarse and you fought with yourself not to label it as sexy given the circumstances. Fuck. "But he threatened her! He threatened her family and he could charge us?" Dean was standing so close to you now that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin through the material of his fresh t shirt. His hair was wild from running his fingers through it and pulling. It didn't help the situation that you just wanted to take him to bed and cuddle him. Or... other things.

You didn't even have to have sex with the man and the thought was startling. You just wanted him to touch you and be close. You wanted to feel safe and know that he was also safe. Sex would be a great bonus, but it wasn't necessary. And when had that thought been okay? Jesus.

"It could happen. The man has a stellar team of cut throat lawyers just chomping at the bit to slam someone with a law suit. But I'm gonna do my best to make sure that doesn't happen." Charlie Bradbury was insanely calm and you envied her. "We're gonna come up with a plan and no one is dying on my watch, got it?"

Dean's POV

With my house being a pile of ash, and none of us really ready to face Y/N's apartment again, we arranged for another place to stay. It was a friend of our father's, an obscure place in the woods to disappear for a while when you wanted to recollect yourself. The place was a rustic style cabin in the middle of a few acres with enough rooms for privacy, but close enough to keep track of every one easily. After what had happened I was anxious, unable to let my brother or Y/N out of my sight.

Honestly, with the new information at hand, obscurity could do nothing but help us. I had to have a moment to catch my breath and collect my thoughts. We'd been slowly making progress but now it was suddenly in our laps.

Right now I was sitting on the porch, a cold beer in my hand. The air was so cold outside that no condensation formed. I could see the air as I breathed out and tiny snow flakes had been drifting to melt on the ground. The snow flakes were so fine that they morbidly made me think of the ashes that were probably swirling around my own house. 

The outside was silent and I watched as the shadows shifted with the breeze. The stillness was unsettling, knowing that there was someone out there so angry that he would willingly take my brother and I's life just to settle a score. It made a healthy measure of anger fill my chest. How dare anyone threaten Sam? What had he done to anyone? The kid was just trying to make it, trying to finish up with school and start his own life outside of the family business. If they had a problem, they could settle it with me and leave him out of it.

And Y/N. What had she done to deserve what she had been put through in the short amount of time that I'd known her other than association with me? And even that had been arranged. It hadn't even been her choice. Which was why I'd been such a jackass to begin with, trying desperately to keep her at arms length because I knew it was just temporary. There had been so many fake, phony people in my life and I could just tell that she wasn't one of them. She was different.

She was terrifying. Not only did she say what was exactly on her mind, but she was earnest and funny and smart. If I let myself get sucked in I was terrified that she would crush me. And what did I do? I let myself get sucked in.

"Hey." Her voice was soft, comforting as she closed the front door behind her and took a seat beside me on the first step. "Just a heads up, Sam started a fire. I don't want you to go waltzing in and have a PTSD episode."

It hadn't really caught up with me what had actually happened. How close I'd actually gotten to biting it. "Thanks for the heads up." I swallowed at least half of my beer in one go. I wasn't really ready to go there yet. Maybe ever.

"It's pretty out here." She folded her arms across her lap and leaned against the banister to join me in watching the shadows and snow drift.

"Yeah-" I cleared my throat. It still felt scratchy and sore from breathing in all that smoke. "Dad used to bring us out here for weekends sometimes." I turned to lean on the opposite banister so I could look at her. "There's a lake about a mile from here. He used to take us fishing." The memory brought a smile to my face. "We didn't have the first clue of what we were doing, but I think he just liked sitting on the water in the quiet." I scoffed out a laugh, "The one time Sammy caught a fish I thought he was going to throw up his breakfast. Cried so much and begged Dad to just let it go. Dad panicked, pulled it off the hook and dropped it on the boat. It flapped around for five minutes while we tried to catch it before he could throw it over board. The whole time Sam was screamin and I was laughin my ass off."

The vision of my Dad in his cargo fishing pants and that stupid bucket hat, struggling to catch that damn fish so Sam would stop having a complete freak out was freaking hilarious. When life was so much more simple. When life was about those cheap assed chicken nuggets from McDonald's and my next baseball game.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling in the soft light that the cabin gave off from inside. "Sounds like quality family time."

"Oh, it was!" If she had any idea what family time was like after Mom died... Dad had become so depressed, drinking himself into a stupor night after night. It left me to take care of Sammy, even when I didn't even have a clue to what had happened to Mom or what I was doing. All I knew back then was that she had been gone for a while when we'd found her. She was so eerily still and her lips had been blue. What was worse, had been the pained sounds that my father had made.

It had woken Sam up and instinctively I'd known that I didn't want him to see Mom like that. I'd roughly guided him down to the kitchen and poured him a glass of milk. I'd even warmed it up and added honey like I'd seen Mom do before. Sam had always had trouble sleeping when he was a kid and this was Mom's go to fix. Dad never got back on track after that night and Sam became my responsibility.

"Hey, where'd you go?" Her question was quiet, and I found that I liked the warmth from her skin where her hand was resting on my arm. She'd moved closer, leaning into my space and I could smell the candy like perfume over the scent of smoke. Kind of like a roasted marshmallow. The thought brought a smile back to my face.

"Just reminiscing." I tried to think of something cheerful so she wouldn't catch on. I found 'fake it til you make it' had somehow become my motto early on. "We should probably head inside, huh?"

She gave me a calculating look, obviously not buying what I was selling, but got to her feet regardless and lead the way back into the house.

The wall of heat, so different from outside, nearly stole my breath away. God, why didn't this place just have central heat? I gave the fire place a wide berth and decided to head to the kitchen. "Anybody hungry?" I knew there were groceries because I'd called Clif ahead of time to have the place stocked and ready. The man deserved a raise as far as I was concerned.

It got a noncommittal grunt from Sam who was sitting on the couch, his lap top on the coffee table, typing away wildly. The kid probably still had school stuff even though it was getting close to Christmas break. It must suck for him to have the stress of law school and someone trying to kill him on his plate at the same time.

"What did you have in mind?" Y/N questioned as she followed me into the kitchen, watching me with a keen eye that I thought could probably see right through me. It was like she wasn't interested in the surface, she wanted to peel back a few layers and see into my soul.

I busied myself with pulling ingredients onto the counter, "Beggars can't be choosers." I quipped, smiling at my own sarcasm as I ran some water into a pot and set it to boil. "How do you feel about Beanie Weenies?"

If she was trying to hide her disgust, she didn't do a good job of it. "Great."

She watched my every move as I put together five cheese marinara, a personal favorite. I'd actually stumbled upon it by wanting to spice up the cheap spaghetti that I kept making when I was younger. Sam was tired of the same old thing and it was the simplest thing I could make. So, one night I through a bunch of different cheeses into the sauce, whatever the fridge had been stocked with. It turned out pretty well and Sam seemed to like it. Instant success!

"Anything I can do to help?" She looked a little restless and I could whole heartedly understand wanting something to occupy the time.

"Yeah, you could throw together a salad. Sam will pitch a fit if we don't."

That caused a laugh as she began pulling out the fixings for salad from the refrigerator. "What made Sam such a health nut?"

"He's always been that way, the freak." As I insulted my brother, I couldn't help but notice the annoying fond tone I'd taken, but could do nothing about it. "It took him forever to try condiments on his food. And don't get me started on waking up in the morning and catching that kid trying yoga at eight years old. He couldn't be normal and watch He-man cartoons, oh no!"

She chuckled along with my story, pulling plates down after she'd searched for the right cupboard. I found that I liked the easy ebb and flow of working together in the kitchen. Putting food together had always been my job, and I found a kind of peace to it. I liked the comfort and structure of following a recipe as I got older. I liked knowing that my brother was eating something other than Funyuns and Dr. Pepper for dinner.

"You're pretty good at this, huh?" She asked after tasting the sauce I'd offered her, licking her lips to make sure she'd gotten all of it. And wasn't that just all kinds of appealing.

"I don't know about good, but I can make a few things that are edible. Dad was always busy, so I learned." I shrugged as I turned the stove off and started portioning out the pasta. God, if most people knew the heavy things that went on in my mind on a daily basis it would send them running. I sure knew how to bring a room down. "What about you? Do you know how to cook?"

A sheepish grin, that preceded a deep blush spreading across her face, appeared. "I can make macaroni out of a box... Oo! Does grilled cheese count?" Those sparkling eyes full of mischief got to me. They made me automatically smile in return as I shook my head.

"You're hopeless. How do you feed yourself?" I leaned through the doorway to yell at Sam to 'come and get it' before turning my attention back to her. She was hiding her blushing face in the refrigerator as she pulled three more beers out and set them on the small wooden table in the kitchen. 

Before I knew it we were all seated around the table, and I couldn't help but feel a little proud of myself. Sam was eating his pasta enthusiastically and although Y/N was eating with a little more grace, it seemed like she was a fan as well.

The little bit of normalcy carried me all the way until I'd finally showered and slid under the red and black checkered, flannel covers of my bed. Everyone else had already turned in earlier, and the house was quiet except for the creaking noises of the old cabin settling in for the night. Sam had built the fire up so that it would last a while into the night, so it wasn't necessarily cold. 

Now it was too quiet, and I was too alone. I didn't have anything to distract me from the fact that I might have died today if Y/N hadn't shown up when she had. I couldn't get the man with the black stocking cap over his face out of my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about how I'd been in the den watching a show about how to rebuild a 4 block motor when I'd heard the door creak open behind me. I hadn't been to worried, Sam had been due back home any time and I figured it was him coming home.

But the quiet is what clued me in. Sam was never quiet when he got home. His boots were always clomping along on the floor, leaving mud everywhere. His messenger bag slam full of books and his lap top would make a heavy thud by the door when he came in. He would huff and bitch and say that this was the last semester. That he was just going to say fuck it all. Which never really bothered me because I knew the kid was too goal driven to give up.

But there was none of that then. It was complete quiet except for the drone of the man talking over a blue car on a tv set. That's when he'd grabbed me from behind. I'd struggled, of course I'd struggled, but one fist to the temple and I was out. If the ache in my body and the cut on my forehead were any indication, he must have dropped me down the damn stairs. But that hadn't been the scariest part. The scariest part had been when I came to in the basement, tied to a chair with the house burning down around me. I just knew I was going to die that way.

The memory made me fist the blanket tighter to my chest. I could almost taste the smoke and ash in my mouth, feel it filling my lungs so much that it actually burned. I felt my heart struggling to hammer rapidly against my chest. If there was one thing that I'd kept to myself all of these years. The one thing that probably kept me from living the lifestyle that my father had turned to... I owed my current life to afib, a type of heart murmur. It came with it's complications and triggers, but more than anything it was only an inconvenience to me. 

Sometimes there were chest pains, like now. It felt like a hot coal had settled in my chest exactly where my heart was supposed to be. Sometimes, like now, it made a little difficult to breathe a full breath. The doctors had prescribed some anti anxiety medication and a blood thinner. I only took the blood thinner. I couldn't bring myself to take something that was possible to become habit forming. I didn't want to be my dad. Most of the time, I curled up into the smallest ball I could manage and waited for it to be over.

Ever since the drama had started with the CW, the symptoms and episodes were more frequent and severe. It was directly tied to stress, and could really be triggered by the wind blowing the wrong way. But what could I do? Ask the bastard for a time out?

For the longest time, while my heart beat in my chest like a wild thing desperate to break free, I stared at the shadows on the ceiling. The wind and the snow falling outside made interesting patterns on the walls. At least, for now, we were safe here. I knew for fact Sam was snoring away in the next room and that brought some comfort. And, just down the hall Y/N was hopefully sleeping peacefully.

I concentrated on each breath, trying to measure them in hopes that it would slow and reset my heart. If I put my hand there I could physically feel it beneath my palm.

The knock on the door made me jump, making it feel like my heart was literally in my throat before I heard her tentative voice. "Dean? You awake?"

I huffed out a laugh at myself. I tried my damndest to make sure no one saw my weakness, but here I was jumping like a six year old girl. "I am now." I croaked back, sitting up in bed and watching the door open and close. I leaned over to turn on the light but she stopped me.

"I'm sorry I woke you. I tried... I just can't sleep." She seemed just as on edge and frustrated as I was and I didn't hesitate to pull the covers back and invite her in.

"No worries. I wasn't really sleeping." I let her curl up next to me as we both laid down and pulled the covers back up. It was quiet for a moment, the only sound was the wind whipping past the house and through the trees. I'm sure the world would look picturesque through my bedroom window in the morning.

It surprised me when she palmed her hand over the exact place where the ache had settled in my chest and at first it was uncomfortable. Like an added weight settled on a bruise, but the longer it sat the more it comforted me. How could she know exactly where it hurt?

"I'm sorry about breakfast, Dean. I honestly thought I was doing the easy thing for both of us. I didn't want you to feel pressured, and to be honest, I was a little embarrassed." Her voice was quiet to fit the atmosphere of the room. Her breath was warm where it tickled against the bare skin above my t shirt. I'd tucked her under my chin, enjoying having her close. "I've never felt like my life was so out of control before and you've tipped it upside down. I never planned for you. I never thought I would fall for someone like you, and I tried really hard not to."

"I'm sorry about all of this-" I started, guilt eating me up inside because of what she was now irrevocably involved in. If I had been stronger, harsher, she wouldn't be here right now in the middle of this mess with me.

"I'm not, and none of this is your fault."

It was quiet for a moment longer while I played what she had said over in my mind. I could accept that she thought that she was doing the best thing for both of us by getting out of dodge. How was she supposed to know that I felt the very same thing, but was just too terrified to latch onto it? But, "What do you men 'someone like me'?" I tried to keep the hurt from my voice. She had already shown a little bit of her judgement side and I wasn't sure I really wanted to know. I just felt compelled to ask.

She laughed a little sardonic laugh into the crook of my neck, tickling my skin and giving me goosebumps. Once again she seemed sheepish and I couldn't say that it was a bad look for her. "Well, have you looked in the mirror lately? You're so ridiculously handsome, and you know it." She sat up moving her hand to squeeze the muscles of my arm. "Do you feel that?" She had an exasperated tone, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight that flooded the room through the blinds. "You're in ridiculously good shape! You could have anyone, do you realize that? You're fucking perfect and to realize that you were a good person too. And funny! And hell, now I know you even cook! Well, that was just too much. How would I ever survive something like that? Why would you be interested in someone like me?"

"Y/N, are you crazy?" I sat up to cradle her face in my hands, studying the self deprecating smile on her lips. "Have you seen you? You're beautiful and smart and so good. You aren't jaded like me. You don't have the baggage that I have. You aren't like the other people that I know!"

She rolled her eyes, turning her attention to whatever was fascinating on the flannel sheets.

"Stop it." I was desperately trying to make eye contact. "Stop whatever self deprecating thoughts you're having because they're not true, do you hear me?"

She finally looked up, her eyes glittering with what looked like pain. It made my heart somersault and twist in my chest. I couldn't stand the look, so I did the only thing I could do. I kissed her, hard enough to bruise her lips because that was just how much I believed in what I was saying. There was no reason for Y/N to feel self conscious, ever. So what that she wasn't the typical CW actress. She didn't flaunt her beauty or her talent.

She made an appreciative noise in the back of her throat, grabbing onto my shoulders with a death grip. I didn't waste my breath to tell her that she didn't have to. I wasn't going anywhere. I slid my hands down her rib cage, feeling each bone beneath my fingers, until I found the hem of her shirt and got them on warm skin.

I groaned when she sucked on my bottom lip and squeezed onto her hips to pull her onto my lap. The winter storm outside was raging. The fragile snowflakes were now being tossed against the cabin in the ruthless wind. But, inside it was warm and safe. This time it wasn't just about getting pleasure. To me, this time it was about comfort. I'd probably take the time to freak out about it later, how much I needed this, but now it was all that I craved.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean are left wondering how their plan went so terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, thanks to Jackleslover for continuing to encourage me to get this story out there. Thanks for being patient with me. I hope you guys like it. This entire chapter is told from Sam's point of view.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

Sam’s POV:

“Sam!” 

I’d been having a very satisfying dream, probably about my girlfriend Jessica, which was surprising even in my subconscious. With everything going on, my nights were mostly filled with nightmares about finding Mom’s body over and over. 

Or on really bad nights, I dreamt that I was the one who found her right before she died and could do nothing to stop it. I’d never actually seen her that night like Dean had, so my mind conjured up morbid picture after picture to torment me with.

“Sammy, goddamnit, wake up!” My brother’s panicked voice finally reached through what had been a very heavy sleep. So heavy that I felt dizzy and slow as I sat up to see just what the hell Dean’s problem was.

“What the hell, Dean?” I grumbled, my vision clearing to see that he was frantically throwing my stuff into my duffle. 

“We gotta get back into town.”

“What? What for?” Despite the fifty questions shtick, I stood up and started to throw some clothes on before they all got packed away in a wad never to be the same again.

“Y/N’s missing.” Dean’s tone was perfunctory, but I could tell he was on the edge of panic as he tossed the now packed bag onto my bed and stomped off into his room where he began packing in the same way he’d thrown my bag together.

Not that I didn’t appreciate Dean’s help, especially when I was swamped at school, but I wondered if he ever got tired of running around like he was still in charge of a toddler.

“You mean she went for a walk because you pissed her off missing or…” I questioned, just to make sure we covered all of our bases, as I sat on the end of his bed to pull my shoes on.

“I thought that at first, so I followed her tracks in the snow, but then there were more tracks and then some tire tracks and…” I noted that Dean was starting to breathe heavier than was strictly necessary, holding a hand to his chest like someone who might be having a heart attack.

“Hey,” I jumped up once I had my shoes on to put a hand on his shoulder. “Dude, calm down, Dean. We’ll find her. Maybe she had someone pick her up?” I’d never seen Dean lose composure so fast, noting the bright red flush that was shining like nuclear waste. “And why would they just take her when we were here, too? Where’s Cliff?”

“There was blood in the snow, Sam. I don’t know who’s it was or why they would just take her or why Cliff decided he HAD to have a goddamned espresso at four fucking a.m....!” He swallowed loudly a few times before he zipped up his bag. His chest was still heaving when he threw his bag over his shoulder. “Cliff’s already dealing with the police. He said it would take them a little while to get out here, but that we should get back into town in case they’re still hanging around.” 

“What about her stuff, is it still here?” Something wasn’t adding up, a sick feeling settled heavily in my gut. But, between my brother’s strange behavior and the mystery of Y/N’s sudden disappearance, I wasn’t sure what to concentrate on first.

“I already packed it, let’s get the fuck out of here.” He shouldered his way through the door way, his body hunched like he had just come back from running a marathon. There was definitely something going on with Dean that he wasn’t telling me, but it would have to wait.

“Okay, but I’m driving.”

Dean had reluctantly given over the keys after a few snarky remarks. The entire drive to the house my attention was split between the road and keeping an eye on Dean. Not having anything to do wasn’t doing him any favors as he bounced his leg nervously, but about halfway to our destination, he’d stopped heaving. Now he was just rubbing his chest periodically. It was kind of like the time we’d wrestled until Dean had pulled a pectoral muscle. My best guess was that now he had an anxiety issue.

He had always been bad about internalizing everything, Mom’s death and Dad’s downward spiral included. He just never opened up about that stuff and usually blamed himself. It didn’t matter how many times our father himself had told Dean that he didn’t blame him for Mom’s death. He’d always feel like he’d been the reason no one was home to help her. It was a shame because he’d been so good at it, but he’d stopped playing baseball after that. Partly out of necessity because Dad was in no shape to foster a love of sports. But also because Dean went through a period of not speaking and went through child psychologists like ice cream flavors.

So, it made sense to me that it could all have been bottled up and chose right now to surface. It wouldn’t have been triggered by his own wellbeing having been threatened. It was only because of my involvement and now, Y/N’s. I think it had snuck up on him. How much he cared for her, even if she was far from perfect. Even though I was incredibly worried about Dean’s issue, it would have to wait because Y/N was missing and if anything happened to her Dean’s problems would only be compounded. 

This entire time that things had been going wacky, I’d had this odd sensation that we didn’t know everything. Which, of course we didn’t, it was a mystery unraveling fast. However, the puzzle pieces that we had to fit together this morning weren’t fitting right. Why had Cliff left? He’d been told to watch the house. We didn’t set him up with a shot gun at the front window, but the instructions to keep an eye open had been quite clear. We’d trusted him because he’d never let us down before, but what would make him leave his post midmorning, long enough for the shit to hit the fan?

“Maybe we shouldn’t go straight back home. I mean, the house is kind of burned to a crisp right now. It can’t be safe.”

Dean who hadn’t said a word since we’d left, jumped at the sound of my voice in the otherwise quiet car. Startling easy was yet another symptom of anxiety and I filed that away for a future discussion. “What, why? Cliff said he’d meet us there.”

I could tell Dean’s worry for Y/N was clouding his judgement, but I had a really bad feeling about all of this. With our history, I’d learned to trust that intuition. “Okay, but why not the police department, huh? Why go somewhere we’ll be isolated in a house we can’t secure?”

I could see Dean sifting through the information that we knew for certain, his expression becoming more and more troubled until 3… 2… 1… “Son of a bitch!” He punched the glove box with a hard right swing, then cursed in a screeching voice as he cradled his wrist to his chest as he kicked futilely at the dashboard.

Only able to shake my head at Dean’s behavior, I turned down the road that would take us away from home and closer to the police station. Our only hope now if Cliff had gone over to the dark side was an outside source. Possibly even the two grumpy old detectives, Bobby and Rufus, who’d done nothing but doubt and question every word we said. And still, there was a possibility that they’d been compromised as well. We were just finding out the reach of the CEO’s influence and it didn’t bode well for us. 

“Fuck!” Dean shouted again, keeping his fist and feet to himself this time. “God, why does that make so much sense now, huh? We let him in her apartment! He found those bugs so quickly and I just thought he was good at his job… He’s been with our family for fucking years! Since before Mom died!” 

Dean’s face was getting red again, so I hurried to control the situation. “We don’t know anything for sure, Dean. But I think we ought to be at least cautious when it comes to him. First we have to file a missing person’s report.”

He shoved his good hand through his hair roughly, “They’re gonna wait until she’s been missing for 24 hours, Sammy. She can’t wait that long.” There was a desperation in his voice that I hadn’t heard in a long time and it had never pertained to anyone outside the family before. That’s when it dawned on me. 

At first I’d thought Dean’s fascination with her had been one born out of guilt and the need to protect someone from the fate that our mother had suffered. She was easily attractive and Dean had always had trouble resisting a pretty girl with innocent eyes. But, from Dean’s reaction, it had progressed when I hadn’t been paying attention. The severity of his reaction pointed towards their relationship being more than just convenient. Don’t get me wrong, I liked her. She was cool, if not a little crazy, but Dean didn’t fall in love. He’d been burned too many times. Too many responsibilities, real or imagined, rested on his shoulders. I felt horrible for my brother, knowing for a fact that Dean couldn’t afford to lose someone else. “We’ll find her Dean.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically at my tone. After a quiet moment of only the sounds of Baby, his expression morphed into something of determination. “Okay, we’ll tell the police. File a report or whatever, but then we’re gonna park the Impala and go scope out home. If he’s got her there, we may be her only hope. And I swear to God…” His green eyes sparkled like flint sparking a fire, “If he’s hurt her in anyway, I’ll fucking kill him.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a plan. He just hasn't shared this with his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm so glad you guys are still interested in this story! Beware of some canon level violence in this chapter! Tell me what you guys think!

Sam’s point of view  
Filing the police report had gone as expected. They weren’t going to worry about it until she had been missing for 24 hours. Y/N was an adult and were we sure that she hadn’t just needed some fresh air? Blah blah blah…

Dean had fumed silently, letting me handle the methodical police officers involved. It was probably for the best anyway. Dean couldn’t afford to be arrested today. He was already pushing it with the way his fists were clenching so tight that his knuckles turned white. He’d clenched his jaw so many times that I expected to hear teeth cracking to bits in his mouth.

Ditching the Impala hadn’t gone any better. Dean had assured and caressed the hunk of metal until I was red in the face and ready to drag my brother down the street so that we could get this over with. I didn’t like the idea of Clif being involved any more than he did, but in our situation we’d be better of safe than sorry. We had to investigate. We had to collect more information to get the entire picture.

“She’s fine, Dean, and we’re coming right back.” I grumbled, trying to focus on something other than my brothers inconsistent breathing. 

“Whatever.” He grumbled half-heartedly, his expression that of a petulant child’s as he basically dismissed the whole thing. I didn’t stop to think about what was going on in that twisted brain of his. 

I rolled my eyes, trying and nearly failing at holding in all the things I wanted to say. Some might be helpful; others were downright hurtful. So I kept my mouth shut for the sake of our well-being and Dean’s sanity.

We were a block away from our charred home when Dean started to talk to me again. “Hey, Sammy?” Dean’s voice was breathy, but we were walking at a pretty good clip, so I ignored it.

“The car is fine, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I was just thinking that she could use an oil change, ya know? And maybe some new spark plugs, she’s kind of lagging lately when I press on the gas…”

“Yeah, you can fix Baby as soon as we solve this mystery first, okay? So can we focus?” So, I hadn’t been able to hold in my frustration completely. However, I wasn’t too hard on myself. I was convinced that Mother Theresa would have trouble being around Dean 24/7.

Somehow, I let Dean talk me into splitting up. Unfortunately, it probably had more to do with keeping my cool than any tactical advantage. I’d take the back of the house and he’d take the front. At the time, I figured we’d be a lot quieter separately and cover more ground that way.

The back of the house was still and covered in a silence that I found hair raising. The house was a charred mess, but everything in the back yard was left untouched. There was something not right about this whole thing. It drove me crazy not to have all of the information, to be going through this blind.

I didn’t even hear Dean enter the house before he bellowed, “Here I am, you son of a bitch!” My heart dropped to my stomach like lead and I realized instantly that I’d made a grievous mistake. “Come and get me asshole!” I nearly fell over my own legs in my rush to get to Dean who I now saw standing in the middle of our charred home with his arms spread wide. The missing walls the fire fighters had knocked down trying to control the blaze made it convenient that way.

I didn’t even make it up the stairs, that were strangely untouched by the fire, before two men in black jumped him. I ducked down below the porch, only barely able to see Dean and itching to go to his rescue. But the expression he threw me as he was carried out like a sack of grain stayed me. 

He had planned this all along, the asshole. He’d played on my irritation and used it as a distraction.

The jackass had planned to be jumped and planned to be taken to where they were keeping Y/N and I could scream! I was so frustrated by my brother’s self-sacrificing assholery. He couldn’t know for sure that he’d be taken to the same place or if they’d even let him live long enough to see her.

The man had not one self-defensive bone in his goddamned body when it came to people he cared about. If there was a kid in the road in danger of being hit by a car, he’d push that kid out of the way and get himself killed. Hell, he’d probably rescued kittens from trees and old women from being mugged.

“Shit. Damnit, Dean.” I whispered along with a few more choice words as I tried to get to the Impala as fast as I could while keeping an eye on the white, windowless van that carried my brother away. It was impossible, of course. They were too fast and I wasn’t fast enough. But there was one thing that I knew Dean had been counting on.

Dean’s POV  
It didn’t take them long to drag me from the van after a hugely uncomfortable ride. I think whoever the hell these assholes were had succeeded in hitting every pothole on the way. I felt the hard concrete and patches of grass as I was drug by my arms through a doorway. I sighed because I knew there’d be grass stains all over my jeans. I’d just gotten these comfortably worn in.

My frown deepened when I felt some of the thinner fabric tear on a sharp corner. The rough feel of concrete rubbing my thigh raw did not make the situation any better.

I couldn’t see for myself, of course. The dark fabric they’d pulled over my head and tied at the bottom made that a little difficult to do. I could feel my sweat tracking down my face, the humid air making it difficult to breathe a full breath. It was itchy and only made me more irritable than afraid.

I tried to ignore the erratic, fluttering beat in my chest. It made me feel like something had embedded its hooks into my throat and lodged itself there.

It was obvious that there was something going on with my heart. What was new? But, if we’d stopped now to address it, we may never have had a chance to find her. My hope was that it would correct itself, like usual.

Life was a little less horrible when they pushed me into a seated position on a wooden, creaky chair. However, it sucked out loud when they tied my legs and arms to it with the roughest rope possible. Even without any struggle, the material bit into my skin like I was made of dough. I could feel the grimace of distaste stretch across my face.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Dean Winchester.” The small hands that smoothed over my shoulders and the nails that then raked lightly across my chest gave me the serious creeps, mixing the taste of bile with the salty taste left by my own sweat.

“Hey, I didn’t sign up to be molested by the world’s biggest douche bag, douche bag. So if you don’t mind keep your fucking hands off me.” I growled out as soon as I could stop gagging, a heavy shiver shaking me down to my bones.

The punch I knew was coming, but could do nothing to avoid, exploded over my cheek bone like a goddamned firework. I had a moment to check the status of my teeth with my tongue before the blinder was taken off, reflexive tears in my eye.

“Lori, I knew you’d have something to do with this.” My usual cocky attitude was getting harder and harder to maintain as the pain in my chest spread. It made my voice raspy, rather than the steady tone I was going for.

“Winchester.” She smiled at me in what I knew she thought of as alluring. It would take a shit ton of whiskey before that became even remotely sexy. “So glad that you’re finally here with us.” 

I was scanning the room, wanting to look anywhere but Lori’s sickly sweet face and to find a way out of here, when I spotted her. The exchange of emotions was dizzying. I felt a second of relief before her appearance filtered through and struck an oxygen depriving blow.

She was similarly tied to a chair like me, but her chin was resting at an odd angle on her chest. There were scrapes and bruises that looked like she’d put up a hell of a fight. That’s my girl.

“What did you do to her?” Internally, I rolled my eyes at myself. I sounded breathy and panicked. Way to bluff your way out of this, Winchester.

“Don’t worry about, Y/N. She’s just unconscious. For now.” Lori took a dramatic breath before her smile stretched even wider. It was the smile of every fucked up psycho from every horror movie ever made. “But now that we have at least one of the intended audience, we can begin.”

“Don’t you fucking touch her!”

“Oh yeah, I’m so intimidated.” Lori rolled her eyes before leaning over to smack Y/N’s cheek hard, the sound echoing in the empty warehouse. “Wake up, pretty! It’s time for the show to begin.”

Y/N’s y/c/e eyes were glassy as I watched her struggle to focus, a heavy feeling settling in my stomach when I realized that they’d already given her something. “What did you give her?”

Lori smiled brightly before patting Y/N’s cheek in a disgusting charade of motherly affection. “Just a little of her own medicine.” She pulled a pill bottle out of her pants pocket, the pills rattling together benignly. “They really are hers… I’ve tried this particular brand of sleeping pills, but they just weren’t for me. They were too strong and I felt like I’d never wake up in the morning.”

So that’s how it was going to go? Desperation gripped me like it never had before. What if Sam had been unable to track my phone? What if I was just signing myself up to watch Y/N die, just like my mother had? “They’ll never believe that she killed herself.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, baby cakes. Mark has been building a file on her ever since she started at the station. He knew that she wouldn’t have the sack to just stay out of the way. Why do you think he told her everything?”

My heart gave a particularly vicious pulse that made me cough, a couple of tears of exertion tracking down my face. It was getting even harder to breathe, the first threads of panic started to wind their way through me. I could feel that my hands and feet were cold for more reasons than lack of blood circulation.

“Did she tell you that your Mom had a choice? That it was her life or Sam’s?” She bent over my chair to talk, her breath washing over my face. The only good point was that this was Hollywood. Of course she had perpetually fresh, minty breath. “So, it’s basically little Sammy’s fault that your Mom was a cold corpse when you got home from little league?”

I spit with all the moisture I could collect in my mouth, smiling in triumph when she backed away with a shriek. “Sam didn’t give our mother those sleeping pills, you fucking bitch!”

Lori made a shrill scream of frustration in her throat as she wiped the amalgam of bile and mucous from her face. “No, he didn’t but he might as well have! Your Mom had a choice! She could’ve left with Mark, left her family a little heart broken, but ultimately she would’ve been alive. She chose death instead! She would rather die than live with you as her son!”

The blow to the stomach pushed all oxygen out of my lungs, causing my chest to burn with renewed vigor. Like someone had thrown acid there. I felt like my body might pull me inward and I would disappear into nothingness. Fuck. Her fist hurt like a bitch to my unguarded stomach, but for once the words hurt more. 

Her voice, even though it was slurred and raspy, cut through the ringing in my ears. It was a fucking balm to my shredded fucking heart to hear her fight through the effects of the drugs they’d already given her. “S’not true. S’not the whole story, Dean.” Through the moisture in my eyes I could see her trying to focus on what she was saying, blinking and swallowing hard. “He t’me. She w’sn’t l’ving alive.” She took a deep breath, her eyes looking a little clearer. “’f she d’dn’t leave w’him.”

“I know.” I wheezed out, lying through my teeth and trying to smile. Lori didn’t need to see how easily she could tear me apart with just words. “I know. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? You don’t have to take anything else.”

Lori’s laugh was maniacal and almost hid the sound of the safety clicking off of the 45 in her grasp. “Well, we can’t get too carried away, but we can have a little fun.” She sat on my lap, careful to avoid my face, as if she knew that I would bite the hell out of her if she got close enough. Her weight and bony ass against my thighs was torture and I could already feel bruises forming. Stupid blood thinners. “We can decide who wants to die first or we could play a little Russian Roulette with this gun. I’ve only loaded one bullet.”

**Author's Note:**

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